synopsis: Everyone knows that yourself and Steve should never have been put on the same team; you fight like dogs and spark like live-wires. But maybe not all of that tension is hate.
warnings: enemies to lovers, smut smut smut (fingering, oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink, mild spitting, rough sex, hate sex but add yearning, slight exhibitionism & public sex & risk of getting caught - fawking in the workplace), canon-typical violence (nothing graphic), description of gunshot, a lot of fighting but they are closeted cutiepies, cursing, steve rogers is a MUNCH and that's canon (to me),
word count: 12.3k words (literally 5k is smut. i wish i was joking. i have no impulse control)
a/n: i tried to do a bit of an inverse on the whole 'steve rogers is a golden retriever' thing in this so there are way too many references to dogs lmao (see: title). i physically cannot write hate sex without yearning bc i am a lover girl. someone release me from these shackles.
Steve has a big fucking issue with you.
You can’t remember exactly when it started but you do know that you liked each other just fine before you joined his team. Back then, you’d thought his unyielding, boy-scout-adjacent sense of duty and honour was kind of cute. He’d hold doors, call you ma’am, talk about doing the right thing as if it was just easy in a job like this. As if it was always clear as day what the right thing to do was.
You’re watching him spar with Sam from the corner of the training floor as dusk descends outside the window and the training room becomes a sort of cave. Dim yellow light is spilling over the room, drowning it in a blurry smog. People are clearing out for the day, but not Steve. Each of his punches are pulled, each strike carefully calculated to inflict just the right amount of force in order to win but not injure. Steve could have Sam pinned in two minutes flat and both of them know it. The frustration in Sam’s expression is tickling you - you recognise it well.
You used to taunt Steve for this kind of thing during training runs and team building events, and he’d tease you right back. That boyish smile would give way to something a bit more wicked and an unnamed heat would pool low in your stomach at his crack in composure. You had been sure he was only days away from asking you out - some very proper invitation to the pictures with an assurance that he would drop you back by a reasonable hour, most likely. But then you got a promotion and came under his leadership.
Now, his virtue is just exhausting.
He moves through missions like he’s got some do-gooder checklist in his head, and you can feel him watching every corner you cut. He doesn’t have to say a word (though he often does); the disapproval is baked into the air between you. Whatever spark had been building between the two of you got buried somewhere between all his rules and all the ways you’d break them.
A side-mission from Fury here, a refusal to wait for backup there - and suddenly you two are enemies. Or adversaries, at the least
You remind him frequently, in the throes of fiery screaming matches that make the rest of the team avert their eyes, that this is the way SHIELD trained you. He is the one going against the grain, not you. But it doesn’t seem to matter to him because his trusty moral compass never points him wrong, it would seem.
Things have gotten so bad by now that you think Steve, patient and tolerant as he is, might have even considered requesting that you be transferred if you weren’t so damn good at your job.
And you are good. That can’t be denied.
But there’s something about working with Steve that makes you great. When you’re not at each other’s throats.
You move around each other on missions as if performing choreography that only you two have rehearsed. You’ve saved his ass more times than he has ever acknowledged or thanked you for, but he has done the same for you. You have a deep understanding of how he works, mind and body. He keeps his moves varied as a rule, but you have learned to read the minute shift in his centre of gravity before he strikes, the smallest drop in his hips that means he’s about to duck, the tightening of his frame before he lunges. Equally, you know when he’s running multiple scenarios behind his eyes, when he’s processing angles before he commits.
It makes you his best possible partner on the field and the biggest pain in his ass in training.
“You’re up,” Steve mutters to you while Sam limps to the corner of the room, grumbling something about how next time Steve needs to stop dragging this shit out before he gets a leg cramp.
You haul yourself up slowly, moving to the centre of the gym with exaggerated languor just to piss him off, rolling your shoulders as you go. His sweat is making his white t-shirt entirely transparent, the thin fabric sticking to his defined pectorals and torso. He shakes his head, spraying sweat over the mat. It should be kind of gross, really, so you’re a bit disgusted by how hot it is. You see his jaw tick with impatience, and you begin to stretch your calves, too.
“You couldn’t have done this while you were waiting?”
“And risk seizing up again while you played with your food?”
“Just because I don’t use full force, it doesn’t mean I’m ‘playing with my food’,” he says, frowning at you in that disappointed-teacher way of his “Every time you all fight a super soldier, it makes you better. I use more force every time.”
You say nothing, only because you’re cautious about baiting him too much ahead of the ass-whooping you’re about to get. You roll your shoulders one more time, looking up at him.
“Let’s go.”
Steve lunges, coming at you hard and fast. A blur of muscle flies past your eye-line, fist cutting into the air where your jaw had been just half a second before. The force of it sends a gust that moves wisps of your hair and the speed of your dodge sends your boots skidding across the mat. You raise an astounded eyebrow at him and he shrugs with a tight smile.
On days like this, when his restraint is frayed and he is too irritated to be sanctimonious, you are reminded that he can be a little bit fun.
When you slide by his guard again, your eyes catch his for a fraction of a second before he lands a surprise hit to your abdomen that pummels the wind right out of your pipes. You groan but stop yourself from bowling over right into his knee that comes shooting up for you. You see him bear left and you glide away in the opposite direction.
“Testy today,” you say, but you can’t hit the patronising tone you are aiming for. Your voice comes out scratchy from the knock you took. He says nothing but leaps at you again.
You lean back and dodge the hit but go sprawling to the floor. Before he can pin you, you sweep a foot under his. It’s not enough to knock him in itself but he blunders for a bit and with one more kick, you send him to his ass. You get a foot in his side and hear Sam hoot in delight as he clears out of the training room with the remaining agents.
Steve’s on his feet in a flash, but by then, so are you. There’s a glimmer of something on his face, like surprise or maybe excitement. You try not to get too arrogant.
And it’s a good thing you don’t. Because after five minutes of hits and dodges, he has you on the ropes again. You’re giving it as good as you’re getting but you don’t have his stamina or pain tolerance. You can feel your equilibrium slipping, movements getting sloppy. You’re over-balancing, tumbling instead of landing.
There’s something about the current between the two of you today that makes you want to win in a way you never do with Steve. You had never even really seen it as a competition before, safe in the conclusion that he and all his serum-amplified testosterone will have you beat eventually. It was always a matter of if, rather than when.
But Steve is coming at you properly today, not pulling his punches (as much), not giving you the space to recover before he’s on you again like a hound on fresh blood and it’s making a sort of swooping adrenaline sing in your blood.
You don’t think too much about it, sweeping behind his back and hooking a leg over his. The serum means you don’t have enough strength to bring him down, but the confusion makes him stumble. With two hands on his shoulders, you climb his broad frame, boots digging into flesh, hands ploughing through his hair. He reaches a hand back to peel you off with bruising strength, but you have an iron clasp. His fingers dig into your t-shirt with almost enough force to pull it clean off.
You eventually reach the peak of him with immense difficulty. You are able to lock your thighs around his broad neck and curl your knee around his throat, squeezing hard. It’s not enough. His hands are pulling at your legs, but he’s not tapping out. You can only hold this grip for a matter of seconds, before your muscles loosen, and Steve will have your tired body pinned.
Impulsively, you dive backwards, head swooping down towards the floor. The force of it sends Steve flying back with you and you vaguely feel three taps - a victory - against your thigh before you both hit the floor.
You crash hard on your back. Your head takes a small bump to the mat and black dots dance behind your eyes for just a second, but your ass and shoulder blades take the brunt of it. It’s far from the worst injury you’ve received in training, but it’s been a while since you’ve received more than a hit. You take a few deep breaths to centre yourself, groaning once air returns to your body. Only then do you realise that Steve’s head is planted firmly on your lower stomach, neck still pressed up between your thighs. You scramble away with what you hope is a collected suavity, all bones and muscles shrieking in opposition to the sudden movement.
When Steve spins around, you know you’re in for it.
“What the hell was that?” he spits, picking himself up from the floor. His eyes are blazing, hands on his hips while he looks down at you where you are sprawled out on the mat. You close your eyes and let out a long, deliberate sigh - precisely the response you know will drive him crazy.
“That was me winning, Steve,” you say, ignoring your groaning limbs to pull yourself up. He does not offer you a hand up.
“No,” he said, voice strained and thick with irritation. “That was you trying to get yourself killed. Are you insane? You could have a concussion.”
“I know a concussion from a small bump,” you say, brushing him off with a limp hand. You move over to get your water, trying not to stagger. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“This is your problem, you know that? You always think you know best and everyone else is just dramatic or not seeing your vision, or whatever it is. You’re a good agent, but that’s not enough. You’re going to get yourself killed some day and it won’t be some great, heroic gesture like you probably think. It will be something stupid like this.”
His speech might have made a mark on you if it had been the first time you had heard it. As it stands, you just roll your eyes and take a sip from your bottle to look busy. The water mixes with blood from where you had bitten the inside of your cheek. It tastes bitter and metallic going down.
“God, you’re-”
You glance warily at Steve, wondering whether he is about to curse at you for the first time since that mission in Moscow. He swallows it. “You don’t listen.”
You shrug with a smile, watching his face go from a blushing red to a deep crimson. His eyes narrow and he spins around, broad back tensing as he storms out of the gym.
“Steve?”
He stops, twisting ever-so-slightly.
“You not gonna congratulate me on my first ever win?”
You think he might have given you the finger if he was anyone but himself.
You do end up grumbling your way over to the med bay eventually, but only because Steve threatens to suspend you from any further missions. You turn out to not have a concussion so you feel perfectly justified in scowling at him days later from across the quinjet the whole way to the shipyard two states away.
The air is warm despite the February frost splotched on the grass below. The hour is getting late; the setting sun turns the lakes and rivers a deep orangey red.
You hadn’t expected Steve to bow down or apologise, but you did expect him to ignore you. Instead, he’s watching you with a detached curiosity, like you’re some rare lab specimen or an interesting insect.
“I know you’re not seriously mad at me for sending you to the med bay,” he says. “Because that would be insane.”
“They did a whole medical evaluation, Steve,” you snap at him. “I was in there well over an hour. All for fuckin’ nothing because I’m healthy as a horse, apparently.”
“Well you missed your last mandatory check-up. So you’re welcome,” he says, his lips stretching into a handsome little smirk.
You frown. You are usually the one provoking him and you’re not overly fond of how it feels to be on the receiving end. You can feel Steve’s eyes on you, heady and pleased. He’s leaning back with his arms crossed, lofty thighs spread open with an abnormal arrogance. One that would not be on display if the rest of the team were with you.
You can fully appreciate his size from this angle, the fabric of his t-shirt straining against his biceps, his wide shoulders holding strong like an impenetrable wall of muscle and brawn. He looks particularly good when he smiles - even if it’s at your expense. He could have passed for a Gladiator, or some Greek god in another universe - the kind whose likeness would be captured in marble for future generations to marvel at and admire. It wracks you how unfair it is that he can be so irritating but still look like that.
Have you thought about him bending you over? Sure. Many a time. But you still can’t stand the guy.
“You still seeing that guy in R&D? Uh- Mark, or whatever.”
You give him a side-glance. Steve doesn’t forget anyone’s name. He is the kind of guy to be introduced to a hundred-man team and be asking Lucy for a debrief and thanking Jim for the coffee the very next day. You think he might be on a first-name basis with everyone he’s ever met. So you know that he knows his name his Mike.
“No,” you mumble. “We broke up last month.”
“Why?”
“None of your business, Rogers,” you say. You’re trying to appear unbothered, but you’re a little rattled. Your teeth are grinding. “What about you? Any dates recently?”
“A couple.”
“And how were they?”
“Good.”
You scoff. “You talk this much with them? Your chattiness might scare them off.”
“The ladies I take on dates might not have the same preferences as you, you know,” he says with a raised eyebrow. Your lips twitch at that term - ‘ladies’. How old-school.
“No, I’m sure they love one-word answers and taciturn grumbles.”
“I’ve had no complaints.”
Your mouth opens and closes stupidly. The shells of your ears prickle with heat as Steve just grins wider, shifting his hips to lean further back. He looks so goddamn cocky, so punchable. You wish you could take a picture and show him to all those trainees you had heard refer to him as a ‘golden retriever’. He seems more like a Mastiff to you; huge, stubborn, impossible to deal with.
You purse your lips together, eyes dropping to his army dog tags. The chain droops down his tanned, fabric-clad chest, the tags sitting neatly in the deep groove between his pectoral muscles.
“Why did you and Mike break up?”
Your cheek twitches up. “So you do know his name.”
“Tell me.”
You turn your gaze away from him to watch the sun set out the window, even if it makes your retinae burn. “My fault, mostly. I don’t really, uh- know how to do it.”
“What? Relationships?”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m not used to having to let someone know when I’ll be home or making sure I have time for them between back-to-back missions. I blame my career choice.”
“Maybe you just didn’t care enough.”
Your eyes snap back over to him, eyebrows shooting straight to your hairline. “What?”
“I’m just saying. It’s not your career choice. Lots of people in this line of work have relationships that they prioritise.”
“What, you’re suddenly Dr Phil or something? It’s not like you know the ins and outs so don’t-”
“Dr Phil?” A cute little line forms between his brows.
“He was this-” You pause, heaving a frustrated breath out your nose. “You know what? Never mind.”
“My point is,” Steve continues. “I think you would want to do all those things for someone you cared enough about, even when it’s difficult. It wouldn’t be some tick-the-box.”
All traces of arrogance are gone from Steve’s expression, only genuine interest remaining as he scans your face like he’s trying to solve some puzzle. It makes you uncomfortable - you would prefer for him to laugh at you or lecture you.
“I could be dating Brad Pitt and I still would not care enough to answer a text about what’s for dinner when I’m busy.”
He frowns. “Who is Brad Pitt?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The walk to the shipyard is quiet. Silent, if not for the steady scratch of Steve’s boots grinding against the gravel. The hum of the quinjet dulls the farther you walk.
You may not particularly like Steve, but you appreciate him at times like these. You couldn't be more perfect mission partners for each other if you tried. The way you fall into your posts quickly and seamlessly, giving each other the space and silence to focus on preparing for the mission while also trusting that you will speak up if the situation calls for it.
Your methods and routines are practically identical. It’s almost a shame that the moment things break open, that quiet alignment shatters.
Steve holds a fist up, signalling you to stop. You do, falling in behind him. You’re not sure what he’s hearing, but you trust him implicitly when he makes the motion for you to duck behind a flatbed truck. You press yourself against the cool metal and Steve plunges in after you, his warm chest and stomach caging you. Hardly a second later, you hear what he had - a door clanging open, boisterous voices spilling out, all speaking over each other in Russian.
Steve meets your eyes, gives you a silent signal and you nod, moving out from behind the truck as silently as a deer and blending into the night. You weave through the shipping containers with practiced alacrity. You don’t need to look to know Steve is right behind you; you can feel him.
You split angles without having to speak. Steve covers the high runways while you sweep the lower lanes between cargo. The night has cooled and the wind is vicious now, needling the hulls of the half-empty freighters and blowing the hook block of the crane overhead until it swings like an unsteady pendulum over the flooded pier. Steve is keeping close. His hot breath feels sharp on your neck against the biting wind.
You get within five hundred feet of the main electrical substation before you’re spotted. A pair of guards open fire from the building behind you, spraying an uncoordinated bouquet of bullets in your direction. You find cover effortlessly and huff with humour at the sloppy execution. They had just revealed that they are aware of your presence without allowing you to get close enough for a good shot.
“Idiots,” Steve mutters, as if he’s genuinely disappointed. You smile up at him, almost expecting him to say something about how he expected better from them.
You easily dodge their fire as you advance leisurely and safely, winding in and out from behind shipping containers. You decide that you’re not in the mood to go at it with Steve today, so you take his lead even if it’s significantly slower than how you would choose to do this yourself. You don’t worry about the shots that get too close - whatever you can’t dodge, Steve fends off with his shield.
You are out of the gunmen’s range when you make it to the ladder that leads up to the platform you need to get to, but you have no doubt they are headed your way. You go first, taking your gun from its holster, aiming it upwards, and heaving yourself onto the ladder. The iron bars are slick with seawater and heavy fuel oil; you have to grip tight so you don’t slip.
You’re making careful progress up the ladder with Steve behind you, eyes pointed upwards for any sign of unwanted company. The metal feels slithery beneath your fingers and it takes you an extra few seconds to climb each step. It’s shuddering under each step and you wonder vacantly whether Steve’s weight will make it collapse.
You don’t have much time to prepare for the gunman that approaches above you. Your fingers are still clumsily fidgeting, trying to aim your gun while also grasping the slippy bar of metal. You get your shots off at the same time; yours hits, his does not.
What it does do, though, is make you dodge. Your body bears left, foot skidding on a rung of the ladder and suddenly you’re slipping downward, stomach swooping as your body collides with Steve’s.
He scarcely reacts, catching you with one arm, using little to no exertion. His fingers clamp around your waist, steadying you. For a fraction of a second you both freeze - your breath catching, his jaw tensing, bodies flush together, faces inches apart. Every hard plane of his body is pressed up against you. There is a throbbing warmth low in your stomach.
“You good?” he asks, breathy and deep.
“Move,” you say, voice tight, shaking out of his grasp and climbing up once more. He sighs and mutters something under his breath but you can’t make it out. Your heart is galloping, your pulse thundering in your ears.
You barrel over the platform, and go running towards the tower just as another guard reaches the door, attempting to get to the breaker panel before you have the chance to disable it. He locks the door behind him but Steve kicks it in with a crash. You slide low, sweeping the guard’s legs. Steve disarms him before he can even hit the floor.
There’s no need for discussion as you both fall into your respective roles. The room is oppressively grey and layered with multiple wires, but you find your way to the breaker panel. You work on planting the shutdown device on the primary switchgear while Steve holds off reinforcements, laying enough suppressive fire to keep three guards pinned behind a forklift.
You’re more aware of his presence than usual while you work. He sits like some nagging instinct in your head, telling you to look. You know if you do, all you will see is his back, a heavy fortification of muscle and hard lines and sweat. You don’t need that kind of distraction. Your nerves are already fried from the uncomfortable consciousness of how his body felt pressed tight against yours.
You step back, watching the disruptor activate and the power shut down around you with a whining drone. The grey space becomes black and for just a split-second, yourself and Steve stand alone in the dark, no sounds pervading the room except your laboured breaths. The street lamps outside have extinguished - the bullets outside pause while the gunmen assess their situation.
Steve moves, shattering the stillness. He grips your wrist and pads quietly out the door, taking full advantage of the blackness to make a discreet getaway. You grab your wrist violently out of his grip but you follow him silently. You can’t see anything very well, but you think he might roll his eyes.
The shipyard is drowned in darkness, the only light the thin silver sheen of rain on metal. You move with Steve between the towering containers, keeping low. Every small sound seems deafening now - the clink of a loose cable swaying in the wind, even your own breaths.
A pair of guards drift close, their flashlights slicing through the blackout. You flatten against the cold steel wall, willing yourself still as the beams skim past, bright enough to catch the rivets beside your cheek. When the voices fade, Steve breaks across an open stretch at a quick, silent sprint. You follow.
You’re not sure why you do it. It’s usually Steve’s job to scan the high ground. His serum-enhanced eyesight can catch movement long before you can. But Steve is preoccupied with sweeping for guards on ground level, so you do it instead out of pure intuition. And you see it: a sharp, unmoving glint on the crane platform above.
Your pulse spikes.
There’s a shooter.
You had caught sight of him too late to find cover. You are out in the open. You can’t see the shooter well, but you know who their target will be and it’s not you. Steve is too far ahead to be able to warn him in any sufficient way.
In a moment of complete and utter instinct, and maybe more than a little stupidity, you raise your gun and shoot. You miss.
The shooter turns their attention to you now. You fire another, miss again.
The hit slams into your shoulder so hard, it immediately steals your breath. You stagger forward, fingers going numb. The gun drops from your clasp.
You try to breathe, but the pain is sharp and choking. Your vision wavers from blood loss and the sheer, overwhelming burn tearing through you. Steve’s gun cracks somewhere to your left but the sound bends around the pain, distant and warped. You can’t lift your arm. You can’t even unclench your jaw.
You wait to feel the blood clot around your wound but it’s slow and reluctant. You hold on for one more second, and then blackness swallows you.
The only thing that you’re aware of when you open your eyes is the pain. Not the cold, harsh light of the hospital. Not your family and team members that sit around you, looking morosely at the floor and bouncing their legs. Not even that Steve is absent.
For some length of time that feels very long, you exist in that state; slinking in and out of consciousness. But the pain never disappears, not even the bouts of darkness. In those moments of oblivion, the pain goes behind a cloud, but it always returns with a violence. You get to know this in a vague sort of way, feeling dumbly grateful when the pain is at bay but never being so naive as to think yourself free of it.
Although you will later find out it is only two days, it feels like a small eternity before you can clear the film that feels like scum from your throat and croak anything out. You must not be of fully sound mind yet or maybe the painkillers are making you loopy, because the first thing you say to the room, crammed with familiar faces, is; “Steve?”
You’re assured by someone - Maria? Natasha? - that he got you out. That he’s ok.
And then that grey cloud descends once again. The pain and the haze return.
It’s not that you care that Steve doesn’t come to visit.
It turns out that your wound is just a through-and-through shot to the top of your shoulder. One centimetre in any direction and the bullet might have lodged itself firmly into your neck or paralysed your arm for good. The area is packed densely with muscles and nerves so you are wreaked with pain, but as it stands, it did no permanent damage.
So, really, there is no need for him to visit. And you definitely don’t care. You just think it’s bad leadership is all. You would have showed up for him if the roles were reversed, no matter how much of a pest he is. Would have sent a card. Even a text, at the very fucking least.
You leave the hospital after the dullest week of your life. You hadn’t, until that point, realised how tangled your life purpose is with your career. You feel rabid after just a day or two of consciousness, restricted to your bed with no files to review, no cases to crack open. Just you, a few beat-up novels you had been meaning to get around to reading, and whoever decides to drop by to see how you were doing.
Maria lets you know that you are required to take another two weeks of leave before returning to work. Standard policy. Your requests to be forwarded files related to your ongoing cases are rejected. You can’t even enter the building to go to the gym.
In the absence of anything better to do, you watch films back-to-back. Try some recipes you had earmarked. Visit the new museum that had opened in the next block over. Wait to hear from family, friends and colleagues. But not Steve. You’re definitely not waiting to hear from Steve.
You’re not usually great for following orders but you follow the doctor’s instructions closer than you have abided by anything in your entire life. By the time you return to HQ, the pain in your shoulder has flattened to a dull ache and you have formed a resolution to try to find some sort of hobby outside of work. You had no idea your real life is that grim.
Maria meets you with a distant smile at reception.
“Welcome back,” she says pleasantly, turning to walk with you through the building. Quiet conversation, the rustling of paper and the heavy clicks of agents suiting up covers the space you walk through. “We’ll do a mini induction and then I’ll let you get to it.”
Maria’s office is pristine. The door clicks shut behind you, muting all murmured voices outside. Everything looks recently straightened, recently dusted, recently organised. Sticky notes, task lists and cables are perfectly spaced out into their correct positions. The files stacked on the shelves are bound and appear to be in alphabetical order. You picture your home office space with a dim sort of shame as you sit down in front of her.
“How is your shoulder?” she asks without much interest.
“Much better, thank you. Should be able to get back out there now.”
She opens a cabinet in her desk and pulls a bloated yellow file. “That won’t be possible. We have made the decision to transfer you to another team. You’ll need a few weeks to catch up on the ongoing cases.”
“Another- what?”
Your brain is whirring, trying to catch up with what Maria just said. She doesn’t reply, just watches you buffer.
“You’re really taking me off the team on my first day back? Am I being punished for getting shot?”
“Not punished, no,” she assures you patiently. “You’re not being demoted, your day-to-day won’t even change very much but you’ll be working under Romanoff now. It was just decided that you would be a better fit somewhere else.”
“Decided by who?” you ask, even though you know the answer.
“By the leadership team,” she replies diplomatically.
Your gaze narrows on her but she is unperturbed. The sound of the seconds ticking by on the clock are suddenly deafening. You’re engaging in a sort of silent stand-off with her and you’re certainly not winning.
“Where is he?” you ask at last.
“On assignment.”
“When will he be back?”
She smiles at you tightly and you realise she can no longer tell you. You’re not on his team anymore.
A wild instinct runs through you; you feel you might be a few seconds away from stomping your feet like a child, shouting at her that it’s not fair! and he started it!
Instead, you huff out a harsh breath and snatch the file up from the desk.
The hour is late and night is spilling through the windows. Yourself and Nat are the only ones left in the room; maybe the only ones left in the building. She lounges against the opposite row of lockers, boot propped up, grinning like you hadn’t just run a mission that by all rights should’ve ended in a four-page incident report and at least one formal reprimand.
“We are a match made in heaven,” she says with a dreamy sigh.
You snort. “Tell that to the clean-up team.”
“Let them file a complaint,” Nat says, waving a dismissive hand. “Clean exit, no casualties, minimal property damage. Made decent time too.”
“Mm.”
It had gone well. Better than well. Nat works like you do - zippy, instinctive, a little unhinged when the situation calls for it. There had been no questioning glances when you made a split-second decision, no screaming matches in lieu of a debrief. Your third mission back was a big fat success. You should be overjoyed.
But as you wipe the shower-water from your skin and peel your top on, all you can summon is a hot, directionless anger. Or, maybe not entirely directionless.
Because for the most part, you can direct it towards Steve. Your shoulder has mostly recovered with only a mild stiffness left to show for it but you’re still suffering from a wounded pride. The fact that he didn't bother to check up on you and requested a transfer after you quite literally risked your life for him is bad enough. But he’s been a ghost to you in the three weeks since you returned to work.
That first week, he had been on assignment in Hungary. You had gone on a hunt for him as soon as word got around that he was back, but he was nowhere to be found. All his usual conference rooms were vacant and he had clearly started training elsewhere. You have not been able to track him down in the weeks since and you have no doubt in your mind that his sole intention is to avoid you.
Because he feels guilty for what had happened? Or maybe because he doesn’t want to have to thank you? You’re not sure. But you’re pissed.
And not just at him either. At yourself too.
Because, alongside that anger, there’s an uncomfortable hollowness tugging at you. You bring it with you everywhere you go. It weighs you down like a chain. He won’t vacate your brain no matter what you do and you can’t quite deny that maybe you might miss him. Just a little.
The anger is not the worst of it; it’s that other thing - the tiny, shameful spark fluttering under your ribs when Natasha lets you rove free instead of testing you, challenging you, making you better. It’s the way your life feels just a bit emptier without someone to tease and provoke.
And it’s humiliating, because - seriously? How original. You really had to go and join the queue of people pining after the tall, hot, golden-boy with perfect manners and stupidly earnest eyes and muscles so perfect that only scientists could have sculpted them. Brilliant. Groundbreaking. As if you don’t already hate him enough without adding that to the mix.
“I was gonna drag you for a drink but the energy you’re giving off right now is rancid,” Nat says, walking towards you with her towel in hand. She snaps it at you but you jump out of the way before she can make contact. “You’re so pissy all the time since you got transferred.”
“I’m not pissy,” you snap, obscurely aware that you’re proving her point.
“Why do you even care? You and Rogers fight like dogs. You never wanted to be part of his team in the first place.”
You’re purposely avoiding her gaze, but you know the exact look that Nat is giving you based on her tone alone and you hate it with a burning passion.
“I don’t care. It’s just not fair, but it’s whatever.”
She sighs, picking up her duffle bag and flinging it over her shoulder. “I’m gonna leave you to whatever this is,” she says, waving her hand vaguely in your direction. “Get eight hours tonight and try to come back less cranky.”
She walks out, hips swinging, and you wait another moment or two before following suit.
HQ feels different at this time of night. The overhead lights seem a shade too bright without bodies moving through them and your footsteps sound sharper against the floor. The whir of a printer on standby and the buzz of a monitor stand out more. Clean, white light is shining on empty desks.
There is a weight on you as your make your way through the carpeted corridors, passing empty offices and meeting rooms. Nat is right - you are pissy. You’re so goddamn angry and mortifyingly upset, crucifying yourself with mental images and memories you would do anything to be rid of. You had always been mildly curious about those feelings that you observed in movies, the ones all your friends used to rave about when they met someone they fell head over heels for. You have dated, have even been in a few serious relationships. But you always knew there was a big gap between what you had witnessed and what you had experienced.
You wish someone had told you how stupidly painful and embarrassing it could be. You would have tried harder to steer clear of it.
You almost think that you’re imagining the picture of Steve in the meeting room to your right, framed by the semi-frosted window in the door. For just a split-second, you think it might be another one of those humiliating daydreams. But no - he’s burning the midnight oil; his neck is craned over a file, a small lamp pouring light over his handsome features.
You’re not one to question your instincts. You hurl the door open with an aggression that has Steve’s head snapping up in shock, pen falling from his hand, mouth parting. You listen to the door tumble closed before you realise dimly that you have no idea what to say to him. You’re floundering a little, but you keep your expression steady.
He breaks the silence first.
“You’re here late.”
“Just wrapped an assignment with Nat,” you say, hand on hip. “Turns out we make a pretty solid team. It’s refreshing.”
His jaw ticks, but he gives nothing else away. He looks back to his papers, as if dismissing you. “Glad to hear it.”
That’s it? That’s really all he’s giving you?
You can feel fiery heat crawling up your neck and you try to stop the furious shake in your hands. Composure is becoming more difficult to maintain and you know that you’re about a second away from bursting but his gall is astounding. He really has nothing else to say? After everything?
“You got me kicked off the team.”
“You didn’t get kicked off anything,” he sighs, leaning back in his seat. His eyes are travelling your form warily, like he isn’t quite sure where you’re going with this. “You got transferred.”
“Yeah, transferred out of the team.”
“I thought you would be happy,” he says wryly. “You were always complaining about having to work with me. I think you even said you’d rather work with Natasha a few times.”
“I am happy!” It comes out as a bark. You’re embarrassed by your petulance even though you can’t cork it. You know that you’re acting like a child. Steve’s lips are creaking upwards, his eyes lit up in amusement.
You clear your throat. “I am happy,” you repeat, in a low, controlled voice this time around. “It just feels a bit ungrateful is all.”
The way Steve’s poise breaks, superior grin twisting itself into a snarl, is hugely satisfying. You are self-aware enough to know that you’re being hugely immature, but it just feels so good to drag him down to your level.
“You think I should be grateful that you almost got yourself killed on a mission?” he snaps, standing up from the meeting room table and walking towards you. You meet him half-way, until you are inches from each other. Your neck stiffens with how it bends up to meet his enraged eyes. Your body is humming with this familiar rhythm, as if fighting with Steve is the only thing that makes you feel alive.
“Well, I got shot saving you, so yes - I would say that’s a pretty good reason to be grateful,” you snap back, eyes narrow.
“Don’t be dense.” His voice is tight and poisonous in a way you have rarely ever heard before. “That was a really fuckin’ stupid decision and you know it. You took a bullet for the super-soldier with accelerated regenerative healing and a vibranium shield. Does that sound like a good decision to you?”
He sounds more furious than you have ever heard him in your life - and you have made him mad more times than you can count. He had cursed at you. He hasn’t done that since Moscow.
“I knew what I was doing,” you spit back with equal fury. “That shooter had all the time in the world to get into position; they would have been aiming for your head and they would have hit their mark, too because you weren’t paying enough attention to raise your shield. I knew that pulling them over in my direction meant that they would shoot me but they would have less time to aim. Just because you think I’m stupid doesn’t mean I am, you jerk.”
He is struck dumb momentarily, brows furrowing and lips pursing in thought. You are close enough to see the twitch of his mouth, to feel his disgruntled puffs of breath against your skin. Contentment slithers up your spine. Seconds tick by in silence; Steve pensive and stoic, you smug and satisfied. You have won this round and decide to go out with a bang.
“But I guess I should be thanking you because I have a new team lead now who trusts my judgement and doesn’t pick a fight every five minutes. So thank you. And go to hell.”
You turn on your heel, already halfway into your stride, and his hand shoots out so fast it must be instinct - large, calloused fingers closing around your arm before you’re even finished the pivot.
There is a second where he just glares hard. His blue eyes eat up every inch of your face.
And then your body meets his chest and his lips are instantly on yours in a heady explosion of fire - it’s a violent, fervid thing and you surprise yourself with how quickly you return his passion. You had imagined this moment in the last few weeks - in all your dirtiest daydreams, you made him sweat it out a bit, even beg. But maybe you can make him beg later - you had missed him too much to turn him away now.
Your lips move like it’s another one of your fights, faces pressed against each other in a messy battle of lips, tongues and teeth. His hands travel to your hips and pull you flush against him while you fist his crisp blue shirt, folding wrinkles into the perfectly ironed fabric.
Your feet leave the ground as he lifts you with irritating strength, pushing you onto the meeting room table and settling himself between your legs. His sheer power - the way he can lift you like you’re absolutely nothing - makes heat pool in your tummy, something stirring low. You’re pushing your lips against his fiercely, channeling all the pent up anger from the past number of weeks.
He isn’t gentle. He’s rabid as a stray dog. His fingers grasp harshly onto your hips with bruising strength. Despite the fact that you’re already pressed up against him, he tugs you tighter to his body, like close is not close enough. You can feel the large swell of his cock against your thigh, hard as a rock, and you have to stop yourself from adjusting your position and grinding down on him. You’re eager enough to do it, but he can't know that.
Your hands travel around his chest and shoulders, fingers delving into every curve of muscle there. He feels so big and broad against your touch and it turns you on so much that it almost pisses you off.
“You’re such a dick,” you gasp, the sound muffled against his lips.
“I know,” he says back between kissing, his mouth not moving from yours.
“Didn’t even visit me in the hospital.”
“I know.”
“I hate you,” you say, aiming for a sharp tone. It comes out breathy. He’s still kissing at your mouth, lips moving wildly - out of sync and jumbled.
“Shut up,” he grunts, hand going to your lower back and pushing your pelvis forward so you grind against him. An embarrassing whine rips itself from your throat as pleasure sparks through you, lighting up your body. You grind down again, addicted to the feeling, and Steve groans against your lips, hips jerking up.
It prompts something filthy; the two of you still fully clothed, bucking and grinding against each other like feral animals. There is a delicious throbbing in your core, your entire body crying out for more of him. His left hand is still on your hip, encouraging your body to continue grounding down against his hard cock through layers of cotton, but his right hand moves up to grab your jaw with a possessive force. You are giving it back to him too, hands clutching and grasping at him with a brutality.
He pulls away to lift your top over your head, eyes levelled at you with a burning intensity. His pretty blues are darker now, less earnest.
“Steve, we’re in the office,” you object, fingers reaching out to grab it back. He tosses it to the floor before you can.
“Don’t care,” he says, reattaching his lips to yours, fingers crawling to the waistband of your trousers. “Gonna fuck you right here.”
Your stomach clenches. It’s a strange role reversal. You’re not accustomed to being the one who stops and thinks about things before acting - that’s always Steve’s remit. You should be concerned that his perfectly constructed control has been tossed out the window, but it only makes you more excited. You know that there is something dangerous deep underneath each layer of restraint that Steve exercises. You have always known you’re better at digging it out than anyone else in this world. When you do, it’s a beautiful thing.
How can you do anything but give in?
Steve’s fingers play with the button of your jeans, popping it open with an effortless tug before he slides them down your legs along with your shoes. You’re left in just your underwear, splayed open before a fully-clothed Steve Rogers like you’re some sort of offering. He watches you with dark eyes, something between worship and hunger enveloping his features.
His eyes zero in on your bra-clad breasts. “Take it off,” he says, voice strained, and you reach up with urgency to unclip it, tossing it carelessly somewhere across the table.
“Suddenly so good at taking orders.” His hand reaches up to palm your breast, the other playing with the waistband of your panties. Your body arches to his touch involuntarily. “Should have done this months ago. Might have made you behave.”
He can probably tell you’re about to say something snarky, because his lips meet yours ferociously yet again and what would have been a rude retort turns into a moan when his thumb presses down on you over your panties.
Steve pulls away, eyes catching yours with surprise before dropping down to your core, covered in a thin layer of now-transparent fabric. “You’re soaked through,” he breathes, awe colouring his tone. “See how wet you are for me?”
Hot humiliation floods your face. “Fuck you.”
He gives you a slow smirk, eyes glinting. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, leaving them glossy and shiny, and you realise he enjoys this as much as you do. His head dips down, lips just brushing over your neck, breath caressing your skin, before he’s lathering kisses there. He hooks his fingers over your underwear and yanks it down aggressively. You watch it cascade down your legs pathetically, chest heaving with the pressure of his lips under your ear and his fingers sliding down your stomach torturously slow.
His fingers just graze over your wet heat and your blood is singing in your veins. You feel overpowered by him in the most mouth-watering way; his large frame trapping you, caging you in. He presses two fingers in, harsh and sudden, and you gasp.
“You get so turned on fighting with me, don’t you sweetheart? I knew it. Knew you were getting all wet every time I raised my voice at you. You pretend you don’t like me but you love when I boss you around.”
You want to slap him, but he’s right. And you consider that if you do, he will stop. His fingers are so big and calloused inside you and it simply feels too good to ever stop. You’re breaking into a sweat while he pumps in and out of you, your slick spilling onto his perfectly tailored work slacks while your walls clench around him.
When his other hand reaches down to grind down on your clit with vigorous strokes, a burst of white-hot pleasure works its way through you, licking up your spine. You pull hard at his hair, looking for anything to anchor yourself and hear him hiss a moan against your neck. The sound makes you clench around him and his fingers pump into you with renewed roughness in response.
You’re absolutely ruined. He has turned you into a complete wreck. You can no longer deny how badly you want him nor how much you need this; you don’t even try anymore. Your hips are wiggling down, trying to take him deeper. You have lost all semblance of shame, too taken up by the pleasure that his fingers are delivering you.
“Look how desperate you are,” he says, eyes caught where he is filling you. You don’t want to look down, shame working its cruel way through you at his taunting, but he grasps your jaw, tilting your head downwards. His fingers are warm and wet with your slick.
His two fingers are enough to stretch you out - they almost look too big for your hole. You shudder at the sight of them sliding in and out, knowing his cock will stretch you out all the more. Steve’s staring at your pussy like a man who is starving.
His fingers pull out from your heat quite suddenly. You’re hazy and confused until he lowers to his knees on the ground in front of where you are perched on the table. Your eyes connect in a moment of explosive intensity. His pupils are blown wide and when yours begin to flutter shut, he pinches your thigh gently in warning. You are forced to stare while he lowers his face between your thighs, eyes gleaming.
“Gotta taste you,” he says, almost to himself, and then that stupid fucking mouth that pisses you off so much every single day meets your cunt.
The sound that comes out of your mouth is unintentional and would be entirely mortifying if you were thinking straight. Your head falls back, eyes shutting. He pinches your thigh again, harder this time.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
You eyes spring back open, twitching as you fight the instinct to squeeze them shut. He holds your gaze captive while licking a messy stripe up your folds. You can feel sweat collecting at the top of your forehead at the sensation. He is ravenous and unrelenting, sucking on your clit before soothing it with soft kisses. Exploring your folds with his lips. Dipping his tongue inside and gently nipping, testing your limits.
He’s eating you out in a way you never have been before; it’s not some repetitive flick of the tongue against the clit, picked up from porn and designed to make you cum as fast as possible so he can get the hell up and get his own rocks off. Steve is learning you, watching your expression closely to see what makes your breath catch. You feel him grin against your pussy as a moan slips out reluctantly when he drags his teeth over the hood of your clit, offsetting the pleasure with the tiniest bit of pain. He groans when you lose control and your eyes roll back in your skull.
He pulls back just a few inches and you watch him spit a thick glob of saliva straight onto your cunt. He’s still holding intense eyee-contact with you when he runs his fingers through your slit, mixing your wetness with his own. It’s sliding down through your ass and onto the table, reminding you exactly where you are. The fact that you are doing this in a meeting room in your place of work makes it seem even dirtier.
He shoves two fingers back into you without warning and your hips buck. He continues to mouth at your clit in the most beautiful patterns and you truly feel like he is doing this purely for himself, like he’s enjoying it as much as you are.
He sucks hard, sliding your clit into his mouth and you’re not in control of the words or sounds that spill out of you. You’re telling him how amazing you feel and how fucking good he’s eating you, but you realise you might have fucked up because you can just feel his arrogance. It’s pissing you off. You need to remedy it quick.
“Maybe I should keep you down here like this all the time, Steve. What do you think? Can’t bitch at me when your mouth is busy. And you’re just so good at it too.”
You can feel the smug smile melt into something more sinister. His eyes grow darker, but he never moves them from yours. He continues to lap at you, but his mouth is more aggressive now - a stormy sort of warning. You ignore it.
“Bet you’d let me put you on your knees after every mission if I wanted.” Your voice is coming out a bit too breathy for the sort of control you’re aiming for, but you continue regardless. “Keep you there for hours if I need to.”
Steve is standing up faster than you can register, a rough scowl painting his face. “Fucking brat,” he grunts, voice low. Your pride does not allow you to complain about how close you were to coming on his tongue.
He’s unbuttoning his shirt with rapidity and you get the message, part terrified and part exhilarated by what’s to come. You go to work on his belt in the meantime, clumsy fingers frantically unbuckling so you can yank his trousers down his legs.
Steve shrugs out of the sleeves of his shirt, you almost groan. It is just so utterly unfair. It’s not like you’ve never seen him in this state before - missions sometimes require you both change clothes in less-than-ideal settings. But seeing him in this context, a thin sheen of sweat coating his pecks, an enormous bulge in his underwear that you know you have inspired; it’s unearthly. It’s only for you. You want him in wicked, sinful ways. And you’re determined to have him.
You try to hide the shake in your hands as you reach towards his underwear. Time slows down as you pull down it down to reveal his cock - what had been a frenzied blur of limbs and clothes patters off into cautious movements, heavy breaths.
You actually groan when you see it; standing tall and fucking huge, slightly curved, subtle veins running lines up to the tip. A pearl of liquid has collected at the tip, smudged on the swollen head. It’s so pretty, you can feel your eyes becoming a bit hazy. The light in the room seems to ripple and bend around it.
Your fingers reach out tentatively, dragging down his length. He hisses, hips jerking up to your touch when you wrap your fingers around him. You can barely wrap your hand around it and you’re startled by how small your hand looks in comparison.
“You think you can take it?” Steve asks you.
“I can,” you confirm with certainty.
“Let’s see about that, sweetheart. I think I might break you,” he returns and you wonder vaguely whether Steve is just baiting you, taking advantage of all your stubbornness to make sure you push yourself past your limit.
His body brackets yours again, leaning over your body to give you a filthy kiss. His mouth is absolutely dripping with the evidence of your arousal and his own spit. You can taste yourself on his tongue, mixed with something that is pleasant and categorically Steve Rogers. His lips move hot and dirty against yours, tongue pressing in on yours while his cock nudges your entrance. You gasp against his lips.
“Yeah?” he murmurs against your lips. “You ready for me?”
You nod furiously and he reaches down to fist his cock. You feel his thick length begin to nudge at your entrance, the head slipping in slowly. Your cunt pulses with anticipation as you feel the sweet ache of him breaching you. You let out a low whine, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure, as he pushes in further, the thickness of him stretching your walls.
It’s a tight fit. He gets just less than half-way, before your pride breaks and your hips jump away from his at the burn. His jaw twitches, blue eyes fluttering closed for just a second.
Steve reaches down to stroke at your clit and the rush of pleasure makes you loosen up just enough for him to notch in a few inches further. “C’mon, sweetheart. Thought you said you could take me.”
“I can,” you say, the words pattering off into a whine. “Just big, is all.”
“Sure is,” he says, pushing in further and smiling wickedly at you. “And I’m gonna make you take it all, baby. Gonna make you feel it here.” His fingers press down hard on your tummy.
His cock is stressing its size inside you, hitting places previously untouched. You can’t quit believe that he still has more to give you but he does. You’ve never felt anything like this before, never had anything this big inside you and it hurts in the most delicious way.
“Fuck,” Steve spits, breathless. “Yeah, okay, I think you can take me all the way. Just a little bit more, sweetheart. Let me in.”
If he hadn’t eaten you out until you were an inch from nirvana, you’re not sure this would be possible. But as it stands, he bottoms out and you feel like you’re floating. Your hips are twitching, unsure whether to escape or grind down harder.
“Squeezing me so tight, baby. Think you were made for my cock,” he hisses, his face tightening with a primal need. “You okay?”
You’re not sure that your vocal cords are still working so you just nod and listen to his deep breaths. Your back arches when he presses sloppy kisses to your neck while you adjust to him. It feels as if he is moulding you around him.
Your fingertips drag down his back and he shivers, jerking his hips forward involuntarily. “Sorry- ah, fuck-” he groans, face clenched tight.
He withdraws a couple of inches, cock dragging through your walls, before slamming himself back in. He looks down at you like a kicked puppy when he hears your strangled gasp. “Feels too good. Gotta- agh. Can’t help it, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
You like this side of him, you think idly. You had seen Steve in many different moods, but never like this. Apologetic and pleading. He is a boulder above you; 6 foot something of pure brawn, but begging you so nicely to take his cock. “I know it’s big but you’re such a pretty little thing for me. Have to move.”
You still can’t talk so you nod at him in encouragement and watch relief pour over his face. He kisses you again with intention, bucking his hips into yours with beautiful friction. You are stuffed so full, it feels like he’s everywhere at once. This whole thing is becoming far sweeter than you were expecting.
Steve finds a leisurely, pulsing rhythm as he rocks himself into you, lathering kisses over your lips in a way that is entirely too romantic for the setting. He rubs tantalising circles on your clit, helping your walls to relax into him - helping you let him in until you find your voice, babbling about how much you want him and how good he’s making you feel.
You’re becoming aware that he owns you now; that maybe he always had. He thrusts into you with a beautiful sort of reverence and you know that you are ruined. Sleeping with anyone else would feel like a brutal punishment after you felt him like this.
A noise from outside - the faint tread of boots on the ground - makes you both stop cold. Steve freezes completely, his dick coming to a stand-still inside of you. They are faint but getting closer by the second. Your eyes meet Steve’s wide ones. He starts looking around the room. at your intertwined bodies. You can see him assessing the situation, working out solutions, but a smug part of you notes that he still doesn’t pull out of you. He dick doesn’t soften; you actually feel it twitch inside you.
Your pussy jumps at the realisation that he’s excited by it. Maybe he doesn't even know it yet, but he is. You know it by the way his hips give involuntary, shallow thrusts. By the way his pupils grow impossibly darker.
So you do what any sane woman would do with Captain America’s cock buried deep inside her. You grind down.
Steve eyes snap back to yours with astonishment. He looks wild; entirely out of control and somewhat furious. He brings a hand to your hair, tugs it with a warning that you don’t pay any heed to.
You grind down again, this time removing your right hand from his broad shoulders and bringing it slowly down to your clit. You rub and squeeze there, using his cock to get yourself off. The way his eyes are burning as he watches you only makes it so much hotter. You feel yourself approaching your peak.
The steps get louder until you see a flash of cherry red pass the window and you know it’s Natasha. She’s on her way back to the locker room, perhaps to check if you’re still there. You don’t stop moving on his cock even as she passes by you and the locker room door swings open and shut.
“Are you insane?” Steve spits in a low whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You just smile back at him because you can see his eyes growing hazy. You not sure he even realises that he himself has begun to thrust into you again. A flush is working its way up his neck and you wonder whether it’s anger or arousal. Maybe both.
You’re halfway through a moan when the door to the locker room swings back open and Natasha begins walking out again with a huff. Steve’s hand goes up to cover your mouth, so large it almost envelopes your entire face. He’s giving you look like he’s disapproving of this development but he doesn’t stop fucking you.
Natasha’s footsteps stop for a split-second. You feel a disinterested sort of confusion, too wrapped up in the way Steve’s cock feels as it drags through your walls.
Something spasms between your legs and you realise you’re about to cum. Your blood freezes. You feel Steve tense, breath snagging in his throat. You’re sweating now - praying that all those gasps you can’t mute are not audible from outside.
You hear Nat let out a long, irritated sigh from outside, but you’re too far gone to even care about the consequences anymore. You squeeze around Steve’s length once and then your eyes are rolling back into your head while she resumes moving down the hall. As she approaches the glass window of the door, you try to crouch, as if that would prevent her from seeing your and Steve’s very naked bodies as he fucks you through your orgasm. You can see the faint shadow of her figure sliding across the frosted glass. For one horrifying second, you’re sure Nat will glance in.
But she doesn’t. She keeps walking, footsteps fading with distance until the hallway is left silent again and your pussy is squeezing with aftershocks.
“You’re seriously fucked up, you know that?” Steve asks, but there’s more awe in his tone than malice. “You really get off knowing someone could walk in here and see me fucking you?”
You don’t even know how to answer him. He’s given you no time to recover from your orgasm, fucking into you again with a renewed vitality. You’re overly sensitive, the pressure of his massive cock inside you bullying your sensitive hole. It shouldn’t feel good, it should be too much too soon - but it’s not because it’s Steve. And you don’t think you could dislike anything that he chooses to do to you.
“You wanna be fucked like a whore? Fine,” he says, pulling his cock out of you with lightning speed and flipping you around on the table so your ass is arched up for him. He takes a second to look at you, squeezing at the skin of your ass, dragging his thumb all the way up from your clit, past your wet heat and through your ass. He’s mumbling something unintelligible. You clench and shudder, a moan breaking out through your lips.
When he fists his cock and presses into you again, all that slow romanticism from earlier is gone. He is fucking you hard and fast, his thick cock pressing into a heavenly spongey spot that you didn’t even know existed. “Fuck Steve!” you cry out, ass working its way back on him of its own volition.
“Such a fucking brat. Couldn’t even wait patiently for me to fuck you for one minute. Too desperate for my cock.”
You want to argue that he was also fucking you, but your brain is not working fast enough to come up with the words. All you can focus on are his dirty words, the obscene squelching noises of him filling you, and how it feels to be taken by him.
“Maybe I should punish you for that. Always so disobedient. Maybe I’ll leave you high and dry here, fill you up and not let you cum.”
“Try it,” you growl, brain suddenly fully operational. “I’ll make you regret it.”
You hear him huff a laugh from behind you. “You’re adorable. Fucked out on my cock and still think you’re in charge. I’ll make you cum sweetheart, but only because I want to see you fall apart. Next time you won’t get this lucky.”
His cock hits a spot inside you that almost makes you see god. His hands are so tight on your hips as he fucks himself into your body that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow. You hope you do.
“That’s it, isn’t it baby? That’s your spot. Fuck. Maybe I should reward you, now that I think of it. All my sweet girl wanted was to get caught getting fucked by me. You just wanted to show everyone that you’re mine. Want everyone to see me fucking that attitude right outta you.”
Being called his coils your stomach in a way you’d rather not examine. Instead, you twist your head back and scowl.
“Fuck you,” you spit, voice strangled.
He chuckles again, but it’s strained. He’s pounding you with a force that you feel all the way up to your belly, all the way up to your teeth. You know you’re not far from coming again and neither is he.
“Is my pretty girl gonna cum on my cock again?” he asks, patting and squeezing your ass encouragingly. You nod, eyes squeezed shut, not even sure that he can see it from his angle. A desperate whine escapes.
“Good fucking girl. ‘Cause I’m about to come inside you. Want you walking out of here with me dripping out of you. Gonna fill you up so good, keep you topped up for every mission. Make you mine.”
That sends you tumbling over the edge, white-hot pleasure soaring through you. Your cunt clenches down hard on him and you feel him burst, spilling sticky ropes of cum into you. He groans loud, telling you how good you are for him while holding your hips with a bruising power, fucking into you violently. He shudders behind you, and eventually his aggressive thrusts patter out and slow into shallow jerks.
Dark spots are exploding behind your eyes for a while as you come down, chest heaving as Steve drives his cum back into you slowly. You feel your mixed spend dripping down your thighs, spilling onto the wooden floors below. Steve hisses as he steadily pulls himself from your tight heat. He stops momentarily while he, presumably, watches his cum drip out of your hole.
And then he reaches down to grab his underwear. He wipes it across your privates and thighs as a makeshift towel. It is decidedly not romantic, but the fact that he’s willing to go home in soggy underwear just to clean you up makes your chest tighten with affection regardless.
Steve begins to dress but it takes you another minute to gather the strength in your limbs to haul yourself up. Your hands are shaking as you yank up your panties and try to buckle your bra. Steve is fully dressed now, watching you intensely, thighs spread out on an office chair.
You’re feeling slightly awkward in a way you never do around Steve. You’ve never been short of quips or insults to throw at him, but the air has changed now and you’re not sure where you stand or how to navigate this.
You have just tugged on your jeans when Steve leans forward to grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. You hadn’t realised that you were waiting for him to do it until he does. You go with no objection, curling into his chest. It feels strangely natural for how combative you’ve always been with him. He nuzzles his face into your neck with a shy affection.
“I’m sorry for requesting the transfer. I regretted it immediately after if I’m honest.”
“Why did you? It was kinda fucked up, Steve. And you didn’t even come to visit me when I got shot. It hurt my feelings because I would have been there for you.” You can’t even look at him when you say it. You are vastly uncomfortable being this vulnerable with him, but you suppose if there’s ever a time for venturing into uncharted territory, it’s now. Steve was right about what he said regarding your past relationships - you just never cared enough before. But you do now.
“I stayed there until you were stable,” he says. “I was just so angry that I couldn’t even look at you. The idea that you risked your life for me killed me. I hate the way you risk so much on missions. It makes me feel like I can’t protect you.”
“But sometimes you can’t, Steve. I know I should be less reckless. Being away from you for the last few weeks made me realise that. But I have to be able to make my own decisions too.”
“I know. I know it’s just part of what happens on missions but I can’t deal with you getting hurt for me. Not with you. Because I…”
He swallows hard, eye downturned. He fidgets against your thigh and it makes your heart ache. You’re feeling embarrassingly gushy, watching him be this fragile and open. You’re taken off guard by it.
“Because you want me?”
He gives you a tight, sad sort of smile.
“I want you so bad, I’m not even sure ‘want’ is the right word for it anymore.”
You’re fighting a goofy grin but it’s beaming out of you like sunshine. You kiss him nice and slow, feel his lips move ardently and reverently against your own. Your heart flutters where it presses against his chest, as if trying to fly its way closer to him.
You pour every ounce of your adoration into the kiss and feel Steve's grin against your lips as a response.
You pull away only when your phone buzzes with a text.
NAT: so i see you’re out of the doghouse
NAT: and now i need to find a new partner. goddamn.
a/n: initially this had bucky instead of nat but i kept accidentally creating sexual tension between him and reader lmao i can't help myself with that man
I’m actually so tired of hearing that chris evans and alba baptista’s relationship is “PR”. She just gave birth to his child? What is wrong with you people, it’s giving jealousy.
It’s not cute.
They are clearly happy and in love and i couldn’t be happier for them and i can’t wait to see him thrive as a father.
Other so called “fans” i can’t say the same for. If you actually believe that shit, don’t return to my blog.
Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!
Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)
here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.
₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧
Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.
Until Fury resigned that was.
Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.
Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.
Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.
Not that you had a choice anyway.
Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.
A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.
Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.
The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.
They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.
From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.
You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.
He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.
He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.
They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.
But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.
"Get on your knees."
"Wh-What?"
"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.
You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.
Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.
There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.
He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."
You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.
Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.
His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.
You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.
His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.
Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.
"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.
He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.
He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.
"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."
Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.
You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.
He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.
Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.
"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."
His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.
"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.
Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.
Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.
"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.
He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.
Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”
You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.
Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.
"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.
"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."
"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.
Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."
and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.
"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"
"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.
The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.
"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.
"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”
Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.
The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.
“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”
“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.
"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."
Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.
"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.
His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.
"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.
"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.
“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.
He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.
Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.
Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.
But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.
Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.
People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.
You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!steve, nomad!steve, fluff, scientist!reader, gentle giant!steve, soft!steve, size difference, SMUT - minors DNI, size kink, manhandling, unprotected sex, creampie, sort of animal-like behaviour, mentions of dead parents, specific warnings in each part.
𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual person—a blue-eyed giant, wild manbeast at that.
♫ ·ﾟ𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𝗧𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗪/𝗖 | 23.9K + 7.1K in blurbs
𝗔/𝗡 | well hello everyone! This is based on my short drabble about Tarzan!Steve, but changed a bit for storyline purposes. In this verse, Sam has always been Captain America and best friends with Bucky. Also, since I felt weird with consent from Steve’s side, there won’t be smut until part 2 where he’ll fully understand what sex is. BUT, there will be an alternative dark!Steve version that’s sort of just pure filth because why not. No gifs/photos belong to me, found bottom ones on Pinterest [1 | 2] all credits go to the original creators. [*=smut] ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼
I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲
Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series!
summary | the house was supposed to be a fresh start for him and sharon. then you arrived, all soft smiles and gentle hands… too good to be true.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, piv, married!bucky barnes, haunted house, ahs: murder house–inspired, cheating, DUB/CON, erotic thriller, infidelity, corruption kink, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, lesbian sex, scissoring, oral sex (f&m!receiving), nat eats pussy like a champ, ghost!natasha romanoff, ghost sex, natasha x reader, supernatural manipulation, mindfuck, guilt & shame, soft domination, power play, manipulative behavior, innocent act / devil core, corrupting a married man, praise kink, degradation kink (light), begging, breeding kink (implied), creampie, aftercare (manipulative), ghosts can touch you here, mentions of death, haunting as seduction, obsessive love, manipulative reader, slow burn to madness, murder fantasy
a/n | what if you were just a normal man. trying to fix your marriage. and your house is haunted. and the ghost is hot. and she wants you. and your wife doesn’t. and now you're hallucinating lesbian sex and creaming your pants. hypothetically.
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨
ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ
divider by @cursed-carmine
You’d been watching them from the moment they stepped inside.
Leaning against the upstairs railing, chin balanced in your palm, you had a perfect view of the foyer from above—the dark wood banister framing you like a picture. You didn’t bother hiding. People never looked up when they moved into new places. They were too distracted by open floor plans and fireplace mantels to notice the house looking back.
They were a good-looking couple. You could admit that.
He—Bucky? James? You weren’t quite sure which was correct—was the one you couldn’t take your eyes off. The kind of beautiful that didn’t come from effort. Big and broad, hands hanging heavy at his sides like he didn’t quite know what to do with them unless he was working. He moved like someone used to fixing things. Rough around the edges in a way that made your chest tighten.
You noticed the little things first. The faint line between his eyebrows when he looked around, like he didn’t trust the silence. The way he kept glancing at the stairs, like he already felt you.
His wife called him Bucky when she was telling him where to put things.
James, when she was annoyed.
The wife’s name was Sharon.. He called her ‘Shar.’ She was pretty. Blonde, neat, not a hair out of place. But she had that look some women get when they think their prettiness is a punishment—like being admired has always been a nuisance, and she’s never quite forgiven the world for it. You watched her for less than three minutes before you felt your mouth pull into a grimace.
She was cold. The kind of cold that didn’t show up in arguments, but in absence. In how she kept her eyes on her phone while he carried in their things. In how she barely responded when he asked if she wanted water. How she picked at her nails when he complimented the space like he was trying to make her smile.
She didn’t. Not once.
You wondered when she stopped noticing him. And more importantly, how long it would take before he noticed you.
Then came the sound. A faint wail, sharp and high.
Bucky’s—James’—head snapped toward the door instantly.
His wife didn’t move.
He was already halfway down the steps when the back of his shoe caught on the tile. Still carrying boxes. You stepped back into the shadows before he passed, but not in a rush. He didn’t look up.
You heard the front door creak open. Then his footsteps pounding down the porch. Then the soft hush of a baby’s cry being soothed outside.
You stayed upstairs just listening.
The front door opened again. Then came the soft shuffle of footsteps returning inside—he was carrying her now.
Your eyes lit up at the sight. A baby girl.
Tiny and warm in his arms, face scrunched from crying, little fists curled against his chest. She had his eyes, you were pretty sure, though it was hard to tell from up here. He bounced her gently as he walked, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other rubbing her back.
“There we go,” he murmured. “See? Told you it was nice, huh? Big ol’ house. Lemme show you around.”
He held her like she was something delicate, like he was afraid he’d get it wrong. As he walked past the entryway and into the living room, he kept talking to her in that soft, low voice. Pointing things out.
He moved like he was giving her a tour she’d remember. As if she could understand a single word. You liked that. A lot. There was something about it—about a big man talking gently to a baby girl—that felt so good you had to grip the railing a little tighter just to ground yourself.
Then Sharon’s voice cut through it. Flat. Dry. From the far side of the room.
“She doesn’t know what you’re saying, Bucky.”
Just like that, the mood shifted.
He paused mid-sentence. Didn’t say anything. Just kissed the baby’s head once, and turned toward the stairs.
You pulled back into the shadows again, smiling to yourself.
You weren’t worried. That baby girl already had more warmth in her short life from him than Sharon probably ever allowed herself to feel.
And you? You were starting to want them both.
Days passed quietly.
They brought in boxes. Furniture. Settled into routines.
And you watched. From the hallway. From the corners. From the attic vent with the slats just wide enough to see through. You had time, after all. Time and patience.
You learned his name first. James Buchanan Barnes. But he went by Bucky.
You liked James better. It suited him. Solid. Gentle. The kind of name you could sigh into a pillow, soft and warm. But Bucky was what people called him when they liked him. His coworkers. The guy on the phone asking about estimates.
Contractor. That’s what he did. Worked with his hands. Built things. Fixed things. Came home smelling like wood shavings and sweat.
Most days, he looked tired. Not unhappy, not really—just… hollowed out. Like someone had taken everything warm and soft in him and set it aside for later.
His wife barely spoke to him when he came in. Sometimes she was on her laptop. Other times she was on the phone, walking barefoot through the house like it didn’t creak under her. Like the place hadn’t already decided it didn’t like her.
You tilted your head, studying them from the bannister as he came in one evening, pulling off his flannel. She didn’t look up. He said, “Hey.” She didn’t answer.
It made you wonder. Why this house?
Surely they’d heard the stories. The real estate agent must’ve mentioned something. Even if only in hushed tones or vague disclosures. The internet was full of it. The neighbors talked.
The deaths. The disappearances. The things that happened in the walls. From the day it was built in 1922, this house had been hungry.
People didn’t just die here. They clawed. They screamed. They bled through the floors.
You would know. And yet, this family walked in like it was any other house on the block. Like the walls didn’t whisper. Like the attic didn’t have teeth.
Oblivious. Or maybe just desperate.
You smiled, teeth tucked behind your lip as you watched Bucky kneel to unlace his work boots. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat. One hand rubbed the back of his neck like it hurt.
You wondered what his skin tasted like when it was warm like that. You were still watching him, his broad back bent over the boots, the roll of his shoulders under flannel, when she appeared beside you.
No sound. No warning. Just a whisper of red silk and cigarette smoke.
“Thought you didn’t do married men.”
You didn’t look at her. Just let your cheek rest against the bannister, lips pulling into a slow smile.
“She doesn’t want him,” you said softly. “So why can't I?”
Nat huffed, leaning against the opposite railing like she was bored at a party. Her eyes flicked down toward the living room, where Bucky was now scooping up the baby again—cooing under his breath, kissing her temple like she was something made of sugar.
“You’re gonna eat that poor man alive.”
You smiled a little wider, “Maybe he wants to be eaten.”
She let out a low laugh. It scraped the edges—mocking, but not unkind. “You always were good at pretending you’re innocent.”
“I’m not pretending,” you murmured.
Nat rolled her eyes, pushing off the railing. Her red nails tapped lightly against the wall as she walked past you, slow and unhurried. She paused at the top step, glancing back.
“When his wife finds your panties under his pillow, don’t come crying to me.”
“I won’t,” you said sweetly. “She’ll just think they’re hers.”
Nat disappeared with a smirk, heels clicking once before silence swallowed her whole. Downstairs, Bucky was laughing at something the baby did. Soft and low and tired.
You stayed where you were. Thinking about how nice it would feel to cup his face between your hands. To slide into his lap. To be the reason he laughed like that.
It was the crying that did it.
High-pitched. Gasping. That helpless baby wail that came in sharp bursts, like her lungs couldn’t quite keep up with how upset she was.
It echoed through the house, cutting through every wall.
You waited... Listened... Waited some more.
No one came.
Downstairs, Sharon was on the phone. You could hear her through the vents.
“No, you’re supposed to let them cry it out. Self-soothing. That’s what the book said. If you pick them up every time they scream, you’ll just train them to be needy—”
You didn’t listen to the rest. Just turned toward the nursery and started walking.
The crying got louder as you reached the hallway. You knew the rhythm of it now—the breathless hiccups, the desperation in it. She was terrified. You could feel it.
The door was cracked open. And then you saw her.
Small figure. Dark curls. A pillow in her hands. Inching toward the crib.
Your steps didn’t falter, but your voice dropped smooth and slow.
“Morgan,” you said gently, “what are you doing?”
She turned to you like she’d been caught sneaking sweets—wide brown eyes, little hands wrapped tight around the pillow’s edge. Her white dress swayed slightly as she shifted, bare feet making no sound on the hardwood.
“I just wanted her to stop crying,” she said.
Your head tilted. You kept your voice light, even smiled a little. “That’s not how we do that.”
You walked over, plucked the pillow from her grip. She let go without fuss, eyes still big and blinking.
“Then how?” she asked.
You didn’t answer her. Just rolled your eyes, stepping past her toward the crib.
Becca’s face was red, tiny fists thrashing in the air. The moment you leaned in and scooped her up, the crying quieted to soft, broken hiccups.
“Hi, pretty girl,” you whispered. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
You rubbed her back, swaying gently, cooing softly into her hair. Becca quieted quickly in your arms.
You held her close, pressing your cheek to her soft hair as you paced slowly by the window. Her tiny hands still trembled, and every few seconds she let out a shuddery breath, but the worst of it had passed.
“There we go,” you whispered. “That’s better, isn’t it? Just needed someone to hold you, huh?”
She didn’t answer, obviously, but the little way her fingers curled into your blouse made your chest ache. Poor thing. Left to cry herself hoarse in a room full of strangers and ghosts.
You swayed with her a moment longer, then glanced back toward the doorway.
Morgan was still there, arms crossed, lip stuck out in a pout.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she said.
“Neither are you.”
She ignored that, “You were gone all morning. I was bored.”
“Then find someone else to play with.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes at you. “I wanted to play with you.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“You said you’d play dolls with me yesterday.”
“And you tried to smother a baby today,” you said lightly. “So now we’re not on speaking terms.”
Her mouth dropped open in childish offense, “I was only helping.”
You didn’t bother arguing. Becca stirred in your arms, letting out a soft coo, and you shifted her slightly, letting her rest her cheek against your collarbone. Your voice stayed soft.
“Go find one of the others. Maybe Natasha will let you braid her hair.”
Morgan scowled. “She said no last time.”
“Then try harder.”
She stomped one bare foot on the nursery rug, crossing her arms even tighter.
“You’re supposed to be a nanny,” she snapped. “You’re not very good at it.”
You raised your eyebrows at her.
“I’m a nanny for babies. Not spoiled dead five-year-old girls who throw tantrums and try to kill babies.”
Morgan’s glare deepened. She opened her mouth to say something else, then thought better of it. After a beat, she huffed and turned toward the hall, “I’m telling my mommy.”
“Go ahead,” you said, smiling sweetly. “I’ll tell her what you tried to do too.”
She vanished down the hall with an angry little stomp.
You looked down at Becca again, brushing a thumb along her soft cheek. “Don’t worry,” you murmured. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you. You’re mine now.”
You caught the raised voices first. Muffled, clipped.
You followed them down the hall and found Peter already crouched behind the staircase wall—eyes wide, grinning.
“You’re gonna get caught,” you whispered.
He didn’t even look at you. Just waved you closer like it was a sold-out show.
“They’re really going at it,” he whispered back. “She didn’t tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“She got a job.”
You arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that good?”
Peter glanced at you like you were new, “Not if you don’t tell your husband.”
You both peeked around the corner at the kitchen. Bucky stood near the fridge, hands braced on the counter, jaw clenched. Sharon stood across from him, arms folded tight, expression unmoving.
“You weren’t even gonna mention it?” Bucky asked, voice low, like he was trying not to yell.
“You would’ve made it a thing,” Sharon said, flat. “You always do.”
“It is a thing. You’re going back to work and didn’t think I should know?”
“I’ve been not working for a year,” she snapped. “Since Becca was born. Since my whole goddamn life got put on pause. Just because I’m a mother now doesn’t mean I stop being a person.”
Bucky didn’t move. His hands just tightened against the countertop.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, stepping back from the counter like it had burned him.
“Then who’s gonna take care of her, Sharon? I’m on site all day. You’re—what—back in court now? Gone twelve hours a day?”
“We’ll get a nanny,” she said.
And just like that, your stomach turned.
You blinked, once. Nanny. Another woman. Another stranger. Hands on your baby.
“There’s plenty of agencies,” Sharon added. “It’s not hard.”
“You don’t even like people,” Bucky shot back. “You’re gonna leave our daughter with a stranger?”
“Better than being raised by two miserable parents who can’t stand to look at each other.”
That one landed like a slap.
Bucky didn’t respond. Just turned and opened the fridge like the conversation was over, even though it wasn’t. Sharon scoffed and walked off, heels clicking as she moved toward the stairs.
Peter leaned back on his heels, wide-eyed.
“Wow.”
You were still staring into the kitchen. A nanny. They were going to bring someone else in.
You didn’t want that. You wouldn’t let that.
Her name was Jean.
Jean Grey. Vibrant red hair and wide green eyes, the kind of girl who smiled with her whole face and didn’t seem to notice when people talked down to her. She smelled like peonies and dish soap.
You hated her.
Not because she was mean. Or cruel. Or even bad with Becca. No, that was the problem. She was perfect.
She cooed at the baby like she meant it, swayed with her in the living room while Sharon typed away in the dining room. She even brought her own toys—wooden, handmade, "developmentally enriching."
Bucky seemed grateful. Sharon seemed smug.
And you…you could only watch.
From the hallway. The banister. The mirror over the mantel where your reflection didn’t quite show.
“She’s sweet,” Peter had whispered to you one morning as Jean settled Becca down for a nap.
“That’s what makes it worse,” you murmured.
You didn’t like how she spoke to Bucky, either. Too casual. Too friendly. Not flirting—not really. But she had that soft voice. The kind that made men lean in.
And Bucky… well. He didn’t lean. But he listened. Nodded. Gave her that tired little smile, the one that meant thank you and I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m trying.
That was your smile. He was supposed to give you that.
You’d spent the whole week with your arms crossed, hidden behind walls and light fixtures and attic beams. Watching. Listening. Waiting.
By Thursday, you’d had enough.
You were sitting cross-legged in the upstairs hallway when Nat appeared beside you, filing her nails with a bone-handled emery board.
“You look like you’ve been killed again,” she said.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
“She’s a nanny,” Nat shrugged. “A living one. This is literally her job.”
“She touches Becca like she owns her.”
“You sound insane.”
“She touched his shoulder.”
“…so murder, then?”
You didn’t answer. Just stood and brushed invisible dust off your dress. Nat snorted behind you.
“You’re so dramatic.”
You were already halfway down the hall. The idea came to you the same way everything else did in this house—slow, sweet, inevitable.
You needed to stay close to Bucky. You needed to protect Rebecca. And you couldn’t do that with strangers coming and going, smiling too brightly, leaving their scent behind.
So first, you’d get rid of the current one. And then make sure there’d be no others.
Which only meant one thing really. And this is how you found yourself climbing the attic stairs.
The air grew colder the higher you went. Not just temperature, but presence. The house got heavier up here. Thicker. Books lined the walls—some dusty and broken-spined, others fresh as if bought yesterday. Candles flickered on their own. The windows never opened. No matter how hard you tried.
He was already waiting. Of course he was.
Loki sat in an old wingback chair near the back window, bathed in the sickly light that filtered through the stained glass. One leg crossed over the other. Shirt half-unbuttoned. Rings glinting at his fingers.
He looked like a bored prince in exile.
“Well, well,” he drawled as you approached. “Come to scratch that itch again, darling?”
You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Still, you slid into his lap like you’d done it a hundred times before. Because you had. His hands came to your hips automatically. Possessive. Greedy.
“You only sit here when you want something,” he murmured, voice low against your throat.
“I always want something.”
He laughed, soft and dangerous. “Tell me.”
You leaned in, arms draped lazily around his neck, lips brushing his ear, “There’s a girl downstairs.”
“There are many girls downstairs.”
“This one thinks she belongs here. With the husband. With my baby.”
He hummed thoughtfully, fingers tracing idle circles along your thighs. “You’re jealous.”
“No,” you said sweetly. “I’m just possessive.”
His grin widened. “You want me to scare her?”
You tilted your head, giving him a soft look. “I want her gone. I want all of them gone. Before they even think of showing up.”
“And what do I get in return?”
You sighed, letting your head drop against his shoulder in annoyance, “God, you’re exhausting.”
“And yet,” he murmured, “here you are. On my lap. Coming to me for favors.”
“What do you want?”
He leaned in, lips grazing your cheek. His breath was cool and slow.
“Just a kiss.”
You blinked. “That’s it?”
“For now.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, “Fine.”
You sat up straighter and leaned in, intending to give him the barest brush of lips—something bored and lazy and over with in a second. But before you could pull away, his hand slid into your hair—fingers curling tight at the nape of your neck—and yanked you in deep.
His mouth crushed against yours, open and greedy, tongue sliding past your lips with practiced ease. He kissed like he wanted to own something, like he was taking back payment owed. He groaned softly into your mouth, low and pleased, like he’d waited all week for this.
You shoved against his chest. Hard.
He let go with a laugh, tongue flicking across his bottom lip like he wanted to savor what was left of you.
You wiped your mouth on your sleeve. “Asshole.”
“You’re welcome.”
You stood, straightened your dress, and glared at him, while Loki lounged in the chair like a man who’d just won something.
“Your wish,” he said with a smile sharp enough to draw blood, “is my command, my darling.”
Jean didn’t last a month.
By the third week, she was sobbing on the porch at two in the morning, suitcase in one hand, cross necklace clenched in the other.
Said she heard whispering in the walls. Said something grabbed her ankle when she was walking to the nursery. Said there were scratches on her mirror that weren’t there when she went to bed.
Sharon told her she was being dramatic. Bucky offered to call her a cab.
You watched from the upstairs landing, chin resting on the banister, a slow little smile curling at your lips.
Loki appeared beside you a second later, smug as hell, as if waiting for praise.
“Whispers and shadows?” you murmured.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, still watching the scene below. “You should’ve heard her scream.”
Emma came next. Tall, polished, platinum blonde. Said she specialized in newborns. Wore pearls around the baby and refused to eat gluten. You hated her on sight too.
She didn’t even make it two weeks.
Something spooked her so bad after the first week, she locked herself in the guest bathroom and refused to come out until sunrise.
Said the baby monitor crackled with voices. Said she saw red eyes staring at her from the mirror. Said she woke up with bruises on her thighs she couldn’t explain.
She was gone before breakfast.
Then came Raven. Quiet. Kind. Sweet to the baby.
And still? Gone after four days.
Anna Marie lasted just two. Barely.
By the end of it, Bucky and Sharon were stunned. Confused. Exhausted.
Bucky stood in the nursery with Becca in his arms, rocking her gently while Sharon paced the hallway, phone to her ear, trying—again—to get a nanny agency to send someone who wouldn’t leave screaming in the middle of the night.
“That’s the third one, James.”
“Fourth,” he corrected, gently rubbing the baby’s back.
“What the hell is wrong with this house?”
“Nothing,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure.
She turned to him, exasperated.
“We can’t keep doing this. I have to go back to work, and you can’t just drag her to job sites.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just kept rocking the baby, frowning down at her little face.
“It’s like they’re scared of her,” Sharon muttered.
“It’s not her,” Bucky said quietly. “It’s this place.”
Sharon scoffed. “What, you think the house is haunted?”
He didn’t respond.
You watched from the corner of the nursery, unseen, hands folded neatly in front of you.
They were unraveling. Right on schedule.
You waited until the morning sun cut soft through the trees—when the house was half-awake, when Sharon was still distracted with emails and the baby was just starting to fuss.
You picked a pink dress because it made you look sweet. Fresh. The kind of girl who wore lotion that smelled like strawberries and always used please and thank you. You wore your natural hair loose. You dabbed perfume behind your ears—rose and vanilla—and made sure your shoes made a little sound on the porch steps, as you appeared at the front door.
Then you knocked. Twice. Firm, but friendly.
The door opened a moment later. And there he was.
Close up, Bucky was even more handsome. Older, yes, tired around the eyes, jaw scruffed and thick, but beautiful in a way that made your chest ache.
He looked like someone who was trying. A man who used his body every day. A man who didn’t get told he was wanted anymore.
You tilted your head and smiled. Soft and warm.
“Hi,” you said, voice light. “I heard you’re looking for a nanny?”
He blinked. Just for a second.
Eyes dragged over you—your face, your dress, your hands gently clasped in front of you. And then he found himself.
“Uh—yeah. Yeah, we are.” He shifted, opened the door wider. “Come in.”
You stepped inside, letting the scent of your perfume trail behind you.
“I live just a few streets over,” you introduced yourself as he closed the door behind you. “Figured I’d drop off my resume in person. I’ve done a lot of nannying, but I’ve always preferred live-in jobs. It’s easier when the baby’s still so little.”
He nodded, visibly grateful. He looked like a man who’d been wading through a minefield for weeks and had just stumbled on dry land.
“Do you—uh—have your resume?”
“Of course.” You handed him the folded paper.
He took it, glancing it over.
You’d handwritten it, of course. Neat cursive. All made up. But it looked real. And it sounded even better. References that couldn’t be called. Agencies that didn’t exist. Dates that never happened.
But he didn’t know that. He just saw someone who might finally help.
“This is… this looks great,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “You, uh—you want to meet my wife?”
“I’d love to.”
You smiled again—perfectly pleasant—and followed him into the house.
The floor creaked beneath your feet. The walls seemed to breathe a little deeper.
And upstairs, Loki grinned to himself like a cat who’d just watched a trap snap shut.
They sat you down at the kitchen table, sunlight slanting through the windows like butter across the wood.
Sharon was already in business mode. Crisp blouse, hair pinned neatly at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was flawless—like it had been applied by someone angry. She held your resume in one hand, a coffee cup in the other.
Bucky sat beside her. Less polished. Elbows on the table. Watching you with polite curiosity—and something else he probably didn’t realize was there yet.
You folded your hands in your lap and smiled sweetly.
“So,” Sharon said, skimming the page. “You’ve worked with infants before?”
“Yes, ma’am. A few times.” You nodded softly. “Every family’s a little different, but the first year’s always the most delicate.”
Sharon tilted her head, intrigued.
“What made you want to do live-in care again?”
“I like the stability of it,” you said, tone gentle. “It’s easier to form a real bond with the baby when I’m not coming and going. I’ve always felt like that’s important. For them to know I’m there.”
Bucky glanced at Sharon. Just briefly. That had hit something.
“And your last family?” Sharon asked. “Why did that end?”
You smiled again. A little tighter this time. The kind of smile that said there’s a story here, but I’m too polite to tell it.
“It just didn’t work out,” you said softly. “Things got… complicated. And they decided to move.”
You didn’t say, ‘The wife thought I was sleeping with her husband. She waited until he left the house. She had shaky hands, but good aim.’
You didn’t say, ‘The last thing I heard was the baby crying from his highchair. The last thing I felt was tile against the back of my skull.’
And you didn’t say, ‘My bones are buried in the backyard under the gazebo.’
You just smiled. Blinked slow. Kept your voice warm, “I still think about the little one sometimes. He was sweet.”
Sharon nodded, satisfied.
Bucky, meanwhile, was still looking at you. There was a quiet softness in his eyes now. Something not quite affection. Not quite interest. But it was building.
“Well,” Sharon said, glancing at him. “I don’t see any red flags.”
“Me neither,” he said quietly.
You folded your hands neatly on the table and gave them both your best, most grateful smile.
“If you give me the chance, I promise—I’ll take good care of her.”
And just like that, it was done.
It didn’t take long for him to start looking for you.
Little things, at first. You’d be humming in the nursery and he’d stop just outside the door, listening like he didn’t mean to. You’d be folding laundry and he’d lean in the doorway for no real reason, asking questions he already knew the answers to—just to hear your voice. Just to have you talk to him like you saw him.
Not the way Sharon did. Not with exhaustion. Or obligation. Or nothing at all. No—you looked at him like you wanted to be here. Like he was someone worth noticing.
You were always kind to him. Gently teasing sometimes, sure—but always soft. Always careful. You said thank you when he fixed the leaky sink. You smiled when he walked into the room. You greeted him at the end of the day like it meant something that he came home.
And he started smiling back. Started lingering. Started softening.
Even the baby seemed happier. She giggled when he walked in the room—chubby arms lifted for him to hold her. He didn’t say it, but you could see it in his face: he liked that. Liked that she didn’t fuss when he picked her up. Liked that you were always nearby, watching him like he was doing something right.
You were patient. Patient—but starving. You waited until the house was quiet at night, then drifted through the halls like a shadow with purpose.
Sometimes you watched him in the shower.
Just for a few seconds. Maybe more. Always from the corner, always just barely there. The mirror would fog and the water would thunder and he wouldn’t even know you were watching.
But you did.
His body was—God.
All scars and strength. His back was broad, muscle stacked thick and wide beneath wet skin. You watched the soap trace down his spine, down to the slope of his ass. Watched the way his hands worked over his chest, up to his hair. His cock hung heavy, half-hard from the heat, water sliding down it like a promise.
You watched him breathe. You watched him groan.
You imagined slipping in behind him, pressing your lips to the base of his neck. Sliding your hands down his hips. Whimpering into his ear like a thing in heat.
Soon, you thought. Soon.
Sometimes you watched them, too.
Not often. But when it happened, you didn’t look away.
You'd be passing by—drifting quiet down the hallway in the middle of the night—and you’d hear it: the creak of the bed, the faint sigh of sheets moving, the low, rhythmic grunt of Bucky's breath.
You shouldn’t have stopped. Shouldn’t have stayed. But you did.
You stood just outside their doorway, eyes fixed on the half-open crack, and let yourself see.
And what you saw—
It wasn’t even the sex that held you there. It was her.
Sharon, lying stiff on her back, like a woman enduring something. Her hands didn’t move. Her head turned slightly to the side, face angled toward the dark. Her lips parted only once, when Bucky pressed his mouth to her throat. She didn’t kiss him back.
She never kissed him back. And Bucky… he tried. God, he tried.
You watched his hands press into the mattress, shoulders trembling slightly as he moved over her, inside her. He groaned her name once. Tried to nuzzle her jaw. Tried to look her in the eye.
She didn’t meet his gaze.
You couldn’t understand it. How someone so warm could be left so cold.
You watched the muscles in his back flex, scarred hips rolling steady, slow, as he worked himself deeper into a woman who barely made a sound.
Your fingers curled against the wall. Your heart ached with something sick and sticky.
How—
How did she not melt under him? How did she not cling to him, bite his neck, beg him to stay inside?
Didn’t she feel the weight of him? The size of him? The way his hands looked, gripping the sheets like he was trying to hold on to a version of himself that still believed she wanted him?
You would’ve cried. You would’ve screamed. You would’ve clawed your nails down his back and begged him to break you open.
But Sharon just blinked at the ceiling. And when it was over, she turned away from him without a word.
Bucky stared at the ceiling for a long time after that. Long enough for the room to cool. Long enough for his heart to slow. Long enough for you to burn.
You turned from the door and drifted back down the hall, biting your lip, your pulse thrumming hot between your legs.
You were going to ruin him. You were going to make him feel what it was like to be wanted.
Really, truly wanted. Until it made him sick. Until it made him yours.
You made sure to start off small.
A brush of fingers when you passed him a plate. The pads of your fingertips grazing his palm just a little longer than necessary. Always paired with a smile. Always soft. Always innocent.
You never apologized for touching him. Never recoiled like you should’ve. Never treated it like an accident.
And he didn’t flinch either—not at first. Not when you touched his arm to get his attention. Not when you stood a little too close while asking how to work something. Not when your hand steadied on his chest one afternoon as you reached behind him for a glass.
“You’re warm,” you’d said casually, your palm pressed to his heart, “Big guy like you—bet you run hot all the time.”
He’d laughed—awkward, scratchy in the throat, “Guess so. Can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”
You didn’t move right away. Just looked up at him with that soft little smile of yours, “I don’t mind.”
Then you grabbed the glass and turned away like nothing happened.
He didn’t speak after that. Not for a full minute.
The next day, you found him fixing the light above the kitchen sink—arms flexed, white shirt pulled tight across his chest. You stood behind him, rocking Becca gently in your arms.
“You’re so good with your hands,” you said, soft as a breath.
He paused mid-turn of the screwdriver. Looked over his shoulder.
You smiled, like you didn’t even realize what you’d said.
“I meant the light,” you added lightly. “You’re always fixing things. You must be really good at building stuff.”
His jaw clenched a little when he nodded.
You hummed and bounced the baby a bit, “Must be nice. Being able to make things work with your hands.”
He wouldn’t look at you for the rest of the day. Which only made you smile wider.
You knew he was watching before you bent down. You could feel it—that low heat crawling over your skin. That heavy silence, like someone holding their breath.
It was late. The house was quiet. Sharon had taken the car to work. Becca was already asleep. You were downstairs in the laundry room, humming to yourself, folding towels in that little sheer nighty you’d "forgotten" to change out of.
It clung to you in the dim light. The blue one. Soft lace at the hem, loose straps sliding down your shoulders. It barely skimmed the bottom of your thighs when you stood straight. And when you bent down…
You did it slow. Deliberate.
Like you were tired. Like it was just a chore. Like you hadn’t carefully chosen this moment, this outfit, this exact angle.
You reached for a dropped sock—and let your hips tilt just right. Let the nightgown lift. Let the cool air hit your bare skin.
No panties. Not even a thong. Just soft, warm, slick flesh on full display.
And still, you didn’t turn around.
You let the moment stretch. Pretended not to notice. Your head tilted slightly, like you were focused on the laundry basket, like you hadn’t heard that sharp exhale behind you. Like you hadn’t felt him freeze behind the doorframe.
He didn’t move. Didn’t clear his throat. Didn’t make any excuse to leave. He just stood there—still as a man struck dumb.
You reached for another towel, still bent low, and let your thighs part just an inch more. Just enough to glisten. Just enough to catch the light.
But you didn’t straighten.
You let him look. Let him take it. Let the guilt start to fester under his skin. Let the shame build into something wet and sticky and so much worse.
Then, finally—finally—you stood.
Smoothed the hem down over your ass, turned toward the door with a lazy yawn. But by then, of course, he was gone. Too fast to be casual. Too slow to be innocent.
And that night, when you heard the water running in the upstairs bathroom—and the sound of his hand slapping hard against skin—you smiled into your pillow and touched yourself to the rhythm of it.
Tonight you left the door ajar on purpose.
Just a little. Just enough to make it look accidental. The crack wide enough to frame the corner of the mirror. The mirror angled just enough to reflect the bed.
You were laid out like sin incarnate.
Shirt shoved up around your ribs, breasts bare to the warm night air. One hand pinching lazily at your nipple, the other buried between your thighs—fingers gliding slow and sticky, soaked with how long you’d been playing.
You moved like you weren’t in a rush. Like you weren’t even trying to cum.
No, this wasn’t for you. This was a performance. And your audience had just arrived.
You heard him before you saw him. Heavy footfalls down the hall—then pause. Silence.
Your mirror showed you everything. Bucky. Standing outside your room. Just barely in view. Just far enough to pretend he didn’t know better.
He wasn’t moving. But his hand was.
Pressed flat against the front of his pants, fingers curling tight, grinding down on the bulge there like he couldn’t not. Like he couldn’t breathe unless he touched himself.
You moaned. Quiet, but not too quiet. You made sure he saw the way your hips rolled against your hand. Made sure he saw the way your slick coated your knuckles. The way your fingers pumped slow, sloppy, obscene.
You let your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut, “Oh, Bucky…”
It wasn’t loud. But it was clear. The sharp jerk of his shoulders said he heard it.
You peeked through your lashes, heart fluttering at the sight—his hand moving faster now, more urgent, as if his body betrayed him. As if he hated himself for it even while he groaned quietly through clenched teeth.
You smiled. Tilted your hips and let your fingers go even deeper. Let him know exactly how wet you got just thinking about him. And when you came—slow and quiet, back arching just enough to lift off the mattress—you made sure your eyes were on him.
You watched him cum too, just seconds later. Still clothed, still standing in the hall. Gasping like he’d just been stabbed. Shame twisting across his face as he stumbled back into the shadows, breath heavy, laces still undone.
You lay there, breathing slow. Smiling.
After that, he couldn’t even look you in the eye anymore. Not for more than a second or two.
He’d flinch, glance away—pretend he forgot what he was about to say. Pretend he was tired, distracted, sore from work. You’d catch him hovering in the doorway to the kitchen like he’d forgotten why he came in. Or answering you with clipped words, mumbling into his coffee cup like it could hide his mouth.
And you just smiled. You played your part like it was nothing.
Sweet. Gentle. Helpful. That soft, low voice you used whenever you asked him if he wanted more eggs, more sugar in his coffee. That same smile you gave him when Becca squealed in your arms and he lit up like it was the first real joy he’d felt in months.
You, so soft. So clean. You, with your dresses and your pretty hair. You, who couldn’t possibly know the things he’d seen.
What he’d done.
How his hand had been sticky when he went to bed. How your voice echoed in his head like a curse. How shame burned in his chest every time you touched his shoulder or brushed past him in the hallway and he hoped it would happen again.
You didn’t say anything.
Not about the way he fumbled with the newspaper when you came into the room. Not about the way he dropped a plate when your fingers grazed his. Not about the way his jaw clenched when you leaned too close with Becca on your hip, your breath warm on his cheek as you laughed at something small and stupid.
You let him suffer. Sweetly. Silently.
And every time he mumbled your name or avoided your gaze, you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
Because he thought you didn’t know. He thought you were just a sweet, oblivious girl. He thought he was the sinner, and you were the angel he was ruining.
It was almost adorable.
If only he knew how long you’d been watching him. How many times you’d imagined his hands around your throat. How many times you came to the thought of him begging you to stop—and you whispering, “But I don’t want to stop, Mr. Barnes.”
Now, he couldn’t even sit next to you without shifting in his seat. Couldn’t hear your name without tightening his fists. Couldn’t sleep without dreaming of you, waking up soaked and aching and disgusted with himself.
And all you ever gave him… was that soft smile. “Good morning, Mr. Barnes. Did you sleep well?”
Like you didn’t know he hadn’t. Like you didn’t know exactly why.
He came home looking like the day had tried to wring him out.
Boots heavy on the tile. Shoulders stiff beneath the fabric of his shirt, soaked through at the collar. The front door shut too hard, not quite a slam but just enough to make you pause. Your hand stilled on Becca’s blanket as you tucked her in.
You gave it a minute. Then padded down the hall.
The kitchen lights were dimmed to warm gold. Bucky was sitting at the island, elbows on the counter, face in his hands. He wasn’t doing anything. Just being. That sort of heavy silence that clung to people who’d been carrying too much all day and had no idea how to put it down.
You stepped in, voice soft. “Rough day?”
He exhaled through his nose, sat up a little. His eyes found you—but only for a second, “Yeah. Little bit.” His voice was lower than usual. Scratchy, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
You moved easily around the kitchen. The kettle on. Mug pulled from the cupboard. You didn’t ask what kind of tea he wanted—you already knew. Honey chamomile. One sugar. No lemon.
“Becca’s down,” you said gently, glancing over your shoulder. “Didn’t even fuss tonight.”
He gave a tired smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s good.”
You walked over, setting the mug in front of him, the ceramic warm between his fingers. Your hand brushed his—accidentally. Not really.
He didn’t move.
“Mrs. Barnes not back yet?”
He shook his head. “Work thing.”
There was no emotion behind it. Not anger, not resentment. Just resignation. The quiet kind.
You leaned against the other side of the island, arms resting atop the granite, body close enough to feel the warmth of him radiating in the stillness between you.
“You always come home looking like this when she’s not here,” you said softly.
His brows ticked upward. “Like what?”
You tilted your head, eyes tracing the lines of strain on his face. “Like the world’s sitting on your back. And no one’s ever offered to help carry it.”
He didn’t answer. Just stared into his tea like it held something deeper. A pause stretched between you—comfortable for you, unbearable for him.
You smiled gently. Then pushed the mug a little closer to his hands. “Drink. You look like you need it.”
His fingers wrapped around the mug. Rough, calloused. Hands that built things. Repaired things. Worked themselves to the bone.
He looked up at you again, slower this time. And for a moment—just a second—there was something vulnerable in his eyes. Something tired. Something that made your pulse flutter with heat.
You gave him a small smile, “You work too hard, Mr. Barnes.”
He let out a quiet breath. Almost a laugh. And shook his head. “You don’t always have to call me that.”
“Why not? It suits you.”
Your voice was just on the edge of teasing. Just enough to make him shift in his seat. Not uncomfortable—just… aware.
You could feel it happening. The gentle unraveling.
The way his shoulders lowered. The way his eyes lingered just a bit longer on yours. The way his hand didn’t move when yours brushed his again as you reached to take the sugar spoon.
You didn’t need him to kiss you. Not yet.
You just needed him to need this. This moment. This feeling. You.
You watched the way his shoulders moved when he exhaled—one slow rise, one slower drop. The tea was almost gone now. His calloused fingers tapped idly against the ceramic, like he couldn’t quite unwind no matter how hard he tried.
“You’ve got tension in your neck,” you said gently, rounding the island as you dried your hands on a tea towel. “Can see it from here.”
He huffed a small laugh—just air and exhaustion, “Yeah, well. Comes with the job.”
You gave a tilt of your head, stopping behind him, “Contracting?”
“No,” he murmured. “Being married.”
That made you smile. He didn’t see it. So you moved closer, voice light, teasing—like it was nothing.
“Y’know… you’re not the only one around here who’s good with their hands.”
He turned a little, glancing back at you. You could see the way his brows lifted slightly—half amused, half confused.
“You offering me a massage now?”
“Mhm.” You stepped behind his chair, the towel now slung casually over your shoulder. “What kind of nanny would I be if I didn’t take care of everyone in the house?”
He let out a breath, shaking his head. “That’s—nah, that’s alright. You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
Your hands brushed lightly over the back of the chair, fingers ghosting the fabric just inches from his shoulders. “Come on, Mr. Barnes. Let me help.”
He hesitated. You could feel it in the pause. Hear it in the slight clink of the spoon against his mug as he placed it down carefully on the counter.
“You sure?”
“Course I’m sure,” you said softly. “Now lean forward.”
He did—reluctantly. His forearms resting on the kitchen island as your fingers finally touched his shoulders. And immediately, his whole body tensed. He was warm. Solid. Tight like a wire strung too long and never loosened.
You started slow—thumbs pressing gently into the muscles where his neck met his back. Circling, kneading. You could feel his resistance like static under his skin. Like he didn’t want to give in to how good it felt.
But then he sighed. Deep. Almost involuntary.
“Jesus Christ…”
“Told you,” you murmured, lips curving as you leaned in a little. “Good with my hands.”
His head dipped. Shoulders sagged beneath your touch. And that was all the permission you needed.
You worked your way down slowly—thumbs dragging along the base of his neck, the curve of his spine, the edges of his shoulder blades. Firm pressure, purposeful. Like you were unwinding him thread by thread.
You watched his hands. How they flexed and relaxed. How his fingers twitched like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“You carry so much tension here,” you whispered, fingers pressing just under the blades of his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Just… part of it.”
“Well,” you said softly, leaning close enough for your breath to skim his ear. “You don’t have to carry it all tonight.”
Your hands moved slower, more intentional. No longer just soothing—but searching. Palms dragging along the muscles of his shoulders, the slope of his spine, the tension that pulsed beneath his skin like something alive.
You weren’t doing it to help anymore. You were savoring him.
“There,” you murmured, kneading into a spot that made his hips shift forward a little in the stool. “Feel that?”
He let out a low grunt, biting it back halfway through.
“Yeah—fuck.”
The sound made your stomach flutter. Your core clench. You smiled, sickly sweet, “Language, Mr. Barnes.”
His reply was a breath. A half-laugh. Tired, flustered, “Sorry.”
You hummed, trailing your fingers over the base of his neck. You knew he was trying not to react. You knew what you were doing to him.
His hands gripped the edge of the island. Not to hold himself steady—but to ground himself. You could see the tension in his forearms, the way his head hung forward, chin tucked to his chest like he didn’t trust himself to look at you.
And then another sound slipped out—softer this time. A low, guttural exhale that came from deep in his chest when you pushed your thumbs just beneath his shoulder blades.
God.
Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment. You imagined him above you. Inside you. Making that same sound into your throat as you whispered sweet things in his ear and begged him to give you more.
Your thighs pressed together.
“You’re so tense,” you said, voice dropping slightly. “When was the last time someone did this for you?”
He didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, it was low. Rough, “Long time.”
“That’s a shame.”
Your hands skimmed lower, just above his waist now. Still innocent—but only barely. You leaned in, breath warm against the side of his neck.
“A man like you should be touched more often.”
He stiffened.
You felt it—right under your hands. His body went rigid. His breath caught. His fingers gripped the counter. And still, he said nothing. No protest. No step away. Just… stillness. Like he didn’t trust himself to move.
You let your palms settle on his back, thumbs brushing softly, voice barely a whisper. “All that strength, Mr. Barnes… and no one to take care of you?”
This time, when he exhaled, it shook.
You swallowed your smirk, dragged your nails lightly down the fabric of his shirt—just enough to make him twitch. You pretended not to notice the way his hips shifted. The way he shifted to hide what you already knew was there.
His cock was hard. And he hated it.
“I should…” His voice cracked a little. “I should probably check on Becca—”
“She’s fine,” you murmured. “Sleeping like an angel.”
You rounded the chair slowly, hands brushing the tops of his shoulders as you stepped in front of him. He couldn’t even look at you.
So sweet. So ashamed. So ready.
You smiled, soft and pretty, “Want me to keep going?”
His jaw clenched. His hands were still white-knuckled on the island. He nodded once. Barely. His jaw tight.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. Hoarse. “Okay.”
So you started with his arms.
You took the left one between your hands—his thick, scarred forearm lined with sinew and years of work—and rubbed your thumbs into the muscles with slow, practiced care.
And still, he wouldn’t look at you. Just stared somewhere past your shoulder. His lips slightly parted.
“Y’know…” you said softly, head tilting, “you never answer me when I compliment you.”
He blinked slowly, eyes drifting to yours like it took effort, “What?”
“When I say nice things to you,” you smiled. “You always act like you didn’t hear.”
His lips twitched. But it wasn’t amusement. It was guilt. Embarrassment. Maybe shame.
“Guess I don’t hear that kind of stuff much anymore.”
Your thumbs worked up his arm, just under the short sleeve of his t-shirt. You pressed into the tension there, soft and deliberate.
“You should.”
His eyes closed. He swallowed.
You moved to the other arm. Slower now. Letting your hands linger on his skin just a moment longer than necessary.
And then they drifted. Lightly. Across his chest. Not a grope. Not overt. Just a gentle press of your palms, circling the center of his chest where the tension was thickest.
You could feel the heat radiating off him. His heart beat strong beneath your hands.
His cock strained visibly against the front of his jeans—and the second your eyes flicked downward, he shifted, thighs squeezing together as if to hide it.
Like it was shameful. Like it was unwelcome.
“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck—I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize.”
Your voice was barely above a whisper now, “It’s not a bad thing.”
His mouth parted, eyes searching yours like he couldn’t tell if you were mocking him. Or testing him. Or tempting him.
(Spoiler: you were doing all three.)
You let your hands stay on his chest a little longer. You liked the way he breathed under your palms. How his ribs moved. How his throat flexed when he swallowed hard, over and over again.
“You’re really tense here too,” you said, thumb grazing near his collarbone.
He only hummed. A barely-there sound. So dazed. So quiet.
You leaned in a little. Voice softer than ever, “You can let go, Mr. Barnes. I won’t judge you.”
His eyes flicked up to yours again—and there it was. Need. Not desire—not yet. But need. Quiet. Gutted. Heavy. Like he hadn’t been touched or praised or looked at like this in years.
And still, he said nothing. But he didn’t stop you.
Not when your hands dipped just slightly lower. Not when you pressed your thigh subtly between his knees. Not when your fingertips grazed the hem of his shirt like you were testing the weight of that silence.
His breath hitched—and that was it.
That tiny, broken sound cracked through the moment like a fault line.
He stood suddenly, stepping back so fast his thigh bumped the stool leg. It scraped against the tile with a sharp screech.
“I—uh. I should…” he cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes as he ran a hand down his face. “I should go shower. And—get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”
His voice was tight. Brittle.
“Of course,” you said softly, taking a graceful step back. Hands folding in front of you like you hadn’t just been touching him like a man you wanted to devour. “You’ve earned it.”
He gave you a tight, forced smile. Didn’t quite meet your eyes.
“Thanks for the massage,” he mumbled, then turned.
He was out of the kitchen in a few quick strides, broad shoulders tense beneath his shirt, like they were holding the weight of what he almost let happen.
"Goodnight," you called lightly.
But he didn’t answer. Just disappeared up the stairs, his footsteps thudding quick and uneven against the wood.
You waited a moment. Let the silence settle. It was getting exhausting—watching him pull away just when he was ready to fall into you.
You leaned against the wall, arms crossed lightly as your eyes drifted toward the stairwell.
You were getting impatient. You’d done everything.
The soft smiles. The innocent touches. The vulnerable looks. You’d watched him bite his tongue raw trying not to moan under your hands. You’d watched his eyes drift toward your tits like he was fighting for his life. You’d caught him jerking off in the shower with your name bleeding out of his mouth like a sin.
And still… nothing. No kiss. No stroke of his hand down your back. No whispered invitation to his bed.
He was trying so hard to be good.
But you didn’t want him to be good. You wanted him desperate. You wanted his hands shaking as he gripped your thighs. You wanted him to apologize to God after.
Your nails tapped absently against your arm as you thought.
He was scared, sure. Guilty. Thought of himself as broken and unworthy. Still loyal to a wife who didn’t touch him. Didn’t see him. Didn’t care if he came home most nights.
While you gave him tea. Rubbed the ache out of his shoulders. Giggled at his jokes. Smiled when he walked in the room like he’d brought the sun with him.
And still he couldn’t let himself have you.
But everyone breaks eventually. You just needed to help him along.
You pushed off the wall, mind already moving faster than your feet. New ideas rising like heat under your skin.
Something bolder. Not a touch. Not a glance. Not a whisper behind his chair. Something he couldn’t ignore. Something he couldn’t explain away as accidental.
Maybe you’d walk in on him half-dressed, pretend to be embarrassed, linger just a little too long. Maybe you’d let the straps of your nightgown fall when you “didn’t know he was there.” Or maybe…
Maybe you’d make him jealous.
Let him see you bent over for someone else in the dark, panting and moaning as if he wasn’t the only one you wanted. Let him ache with it. Let him snap.
Your thighs pressed together at the thought.
God, you couldn’t wait anymore.
Your mouth was watering for him. Your cunt slick just from the memory of his voice. The way he’d whispered your name like it was a plea. Like it tasted too good to say out loud.
He wanted you. You knew it.
It was time to give him no choice.
It was cold again. That brittle kind of chill that settled in the floorboards when October came creeping. The kind that pressed into Bucky’s bones even though he’d turned up the heat.
He padded down the stairs in a t-shirt and sweats, bare feet against cool wood, rubbing a hand over his face. The house was silent—Becca fast asleep upstairs. Sharon hadn’t come to bed yet. Or maybe she had and he hadn’t noticed.
He just needed water. That was all. But what he wasn’t expecting was the candlelight. Soft and low, flickering against the far end of the hallway. Orange glow bleeding faintly across the entry rug like a secret.
He stilled.
A sound followed—low. Wet. A breathless, shuddering little ahhh that made his skin prickle instantly.
And then another.
“Oh—God…”
A voice he knew. Yours. He moved without thinking. Slow. Quiet. Stepping past the hall table and toward the living room—heart in his throat, the glass forgotten in his hand.
And there you were. On the floor. Bathed in candlelight like a fucking painting. Your body arched, bare and glowing with sweat, the curve of your breasts rising with every shallow gasp. Head thrown back, lips parted, fingers threaded in hair that didn’t belong to you.
A redhead.
Beautiful. Unfamiliar in a way that made his stomach twist. Pale hands gripping your thighs as her head moved between them—slow, deliberate licks that made your whole body jolt. Her mouth devouring you. Tongue working you open like it was the only thing she’d ever learned how to do.
You were writhing. Helpless. Blissed-out. Moaning so softly it felt like a sin.
“Please, Nat—please—”
He stood frozen. He could’ve left. Could’ve backed away. Should’ve gone back upstairs and pretended he saw nothing. But his feet wouldn’t move. His hands wouldn’t unclench. He couldn’t breathe.
You were so fucking beautiful. Your skin shimmering with sweat. The soft mound of your belly flexing every time she sucked your clit into her mouth. Your thighs trembling like you were about to break apart in her hands.
And worse—
Worse than any of it—
You were smiling right at him.
Eyes half-lidded and heavy, that sweet, familiar look of yours softening into something molten. You weren’t startled. You weren’t scared. You knew he was there. You wanted him to see.
And he did. He watched your lips part as your voice turned high and fragile and perfect—
“F-fuck, I’m gonna—”
—and then you came.
Right in front of him.
Back arched. Toes curled. Moaning like you were begging God himself to spare you. And that woman—Nat—kissed your inner thigh and smirked. Licked you once more for good measure.
Bucky’s hands were fists at his sides. His cock was hard. Hard like it hadn’t been in years. Shame pooled in his gut like bile.
And you just… laughed. Laughed as you reached down to thread your fingers in the redhead’s hair and tilt her chin up. Kissed her slow and lazy and deep, like a reward. Like you had all the time in the world.
Then your eyes flicked back to him. You didn’t stop smiling. Didn’t flinch or pull away or pretend to be startled.
You just stayed right there—naked, flushed, glowing with sweat and pleasure—lounging back against the pillows you’d dragged to the floor. Natasha stretched lazily beside you like a well-fed cat, licking her fingers and watching Bucky like he was the next meal.
But you were the one who spoke first, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Your voice was soft. Sugar-sweet and teasing, like he was the one acting inappropriate.
Bucky stood there, frozen. He hadn't moved. Couldn't. His throat felt dry, and his fingers twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“Didn’t think anyone else was up,” you added, tilting your head.
You shifted, thighs nudging open a little wider, like it was accidental. Like you weren’t dripping onto the carpet, still sensitive and warm and flushed from being eaten out in his living room.
“You look tired, Mr. Barnes.”
The sound of his name in your mouth made something snap in his gut.
He swallowed harshly, “I—I just came down for water.”
“Mm.” You nodded slowly. “You look like you could use something else.”
He blinked, “I—what?”
You gave a little shrug, your lips parted just enough to make him wonder if it was intentional.
“I mean, look at you.” Your gaze dropped—slowly, deliberately—to the outline of his cock pressing against his sweats. “So tense.”
Natasha chuckled low beside you, chin resting in her palm.
“So easy,” she murmured, not looking away from him. “Like clockwork.”
You gave her a little glance, then turned your eyes back to him.
“You could sit,” you offered, gesturing to the empty spot beside you with a lazy tilt of your fingers. “You don’t have to do anything. Just watch. If you want.”
His breath caught. His hands curled.
“Or,” you added sweetly, voice dipping lower, “you could join.”
You saw it in the way his jaw clenched. The way his eyes dropped again to the curve of your bare thigh, the slick sheen between your legs, the redhead still purring beside you like a devil in disguise.
You leaned back on your elbows. Opened your legs wider.
“Come on, baby,” you cooed. “Don’t you want to feel something warm for once?”
You saw the moment it hit him. The realization that he wasn’t going to leave. He should’ve. Any decent man would’ve. But his feet didn’t move. He stayed. And that was enough.
Natasha moved first, brushing her lips across your collarbone, slow and deliberate. Her tongue followed—dragging hot and wet across your skin—as she grazed her nails up the outside of your thigh. Her other hand slid over your stomach, fingers spreading, teasing just above your mound.
You sighed like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t touching you at all. But your legs eased open wider.
Bucky made a choked sound.
Your eyes flicked up to him, soft and coy.
“She likes to watch too,” you whispered, as if that explained anything. “But not as much as you do.”
Natasha bit your shoulder. Not hard—just enough to make you whimper.
You could feel his stare. Fixed right where he shouldn’t be looking. His jaw was clenched, and there was a flicker of motion below his waistband where he’d shifted his stance—adjusting, maybe. Or trying not to show how hard he was.
You tilted your head with mock sympathy. “That bad, huh?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared as Natasha’s fingers slid down and parted your folds. A wet sound filled the space. Slick, obscene.
His throat bobbed.
“I was just telling her,” you went on, breath starting to catch as Natasha toyed with your clit, “how handsome you are when you’re tired. That little crease between your brows, the way your hands look at the end of a work day…”
“They look heavy,” Natasha added. Her voice was velvet. “Like they’d leave bruises.”
You let out a soft whine as her fingers slid lower again—just barely dipping into you before retreating. Teasing. Taunting.
“Do you want to see what she feels like, Mr. Barnes?” she murmured.
You gasped. Half from her fingers, half from the way his name sounded in her mouth. Natasha dragged it out like it was something she owned. Your legs trembled.
“She’s soaked,” Natasha went on, not even looking at him now. “All this for you.”
“N-Nat…” You barely got the word out. “Stop teasing…”
But your hips were rocking, chasing her hand. Eyes locked on Bucky.
“You sure?” she asked you. “Because I think he likes it.”
You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering, “Do you?”
His hand twitched at his side. Then again. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to bolt—or come closer.
You clicked your tongue softly.
“Guess he’s not coming,” you sighed, pouting as you glanced at Natasha. “His loss.”
She smirked like she’d known all along. Didn’t even look at him when her mouth found yours again, hot and open and lazy, tongue sliding against yours.
Your fingers were already threading into her hair. And then you let yourself fall back, slowly, your spine curving against the carpet, tugging her down with you. Your legs parted. And hers followed as her gorgeous body covered yours.
The heat of her skin brushed yours. Chest to chest. Lips to lips. Then lower.
She rolled her hips, and your thighs locked around hers. Wet. Warm. Center to center, slick meeting slick as your bodies found that perfect press. That grind.
You let out a whimper. And then another, “F-fuck, Nat—”
She was panting already, her mouth dragging down your neck, nails digging into your hip as she moved. Slow, tight, steady rolls of her hips, wet friction spreading between you. You could feel her everywhere—tits pressed tight against yours, her thigh sliding against your pussy, her cunt sticky against your own.
You let it all out for him. Every moan. Every gasp. Every desperate whine that you couldn’t hold back. Loud. Messy. Unapologetic.
And he was still there.
You could see the way his chest rose and fell—shallow, ragged. His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t even flinch when Natasha buried her face in your neck and you cried out from the pressure and the pace.
You moaned again, louder this time.
“Bet he's touching himself,” you breathed.
Natasha smiled against your skin.
“He’s not,” she whispered. “But he wants to.”
You cried out again—she’d changed the rhythm—faster, harder now, and your whole body trembled.
“Come here,” you moaned suddenly, your voice cracking. “Come watch us up close—”
But he didn’t move. Still frozen, still wide-eyed, one hand clenched into a fist at his thigh. And so you didn’t beg.
You just fucked Natasha harder. Writhing. Grinding. Nails clawing into her shoulder, your thighs twitching with every tight, wet rub of cunt on cunt.
The air was thick with it—sweat, sex, candlewax. And you looked up at him the whole time. Smiling. Like you knew something he didn’t.
He was so fucking close.
Your voice was a sweet moan in the candlelight, breathless and fucked-out, as that woman's mouth moved down to your boobs, your hips bucking wildly against hers, soaked and sticky and glistening.
And he—God.
Bucky's jaw clenched, eyes glued to the sight of you two, bodies tangled, writhing. His fists were clenched tight at his sides. His cock pulsed so hard it hurt, and he barely registered the tremble in his thighs, the guttural sound that ripped from his throat as heat built fast and brutal in his gut.
He was cumming. Right there. Just from watching. He didn’t even touch himself—
And then he was awake. Gasping. Back arching off the mattress, damp skin sticking to sheets as he bolted upright in bed with a grunt. His chest rose and fell in short, panicked bursts.
Sharon stirred beside him. Didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t turn toward him. Just let out a sigh and curled deeper into the duvet.
His pulse didn’t calm.
A dream. Just a dream. His heart hammered. And then he looked down—Jesus Christ.
There was a wet patch spreading across the front of his boxers. The kind that bled through the sheets. The kind he hadn’t had since he was a goddamn teenager. His cock still throbbed slightly, twitching against the damp cotton.
He pushed the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed, bracing his elbows on his knees. His hands scrubbed over his face, trying to erase the images still clawing at the back of his eyelids. It had felt so real.
“Fuck…”
The candlelight. The slick sounds. The smell of rose and vanilla. The way your mouth had opened for that redhead—your moans, your body—
It was like he could still feel it. Still smell you.
He lay back down slowly. Didn’t sleep at all after that dream. By the time morning came, his stomach was knotted with guilt.
Sharon had already gone downstairs to take a call, and he barely managed to drag himself out of bed, heart heavy and head spinning.
But it got worse when he stepped into the kitchen. Because there you were.
Sunlight spilling through the windows. Your hair was soft and unstyled, your body wrapped in one of those little dresses you liked to wear around the house—short, cotton, innocent. You were barefoot, moving calmly around the stove like you belonged there.
Like nothing had happened.
You glanced up at him, smiled sweetly.
“Good morning, Mr. Barnes. Would you like some breakfast?”
He blinked. Cleared his throat. Didn’t answer. Didn’t speak at all, just grunted and dragged a hand through his hair as he slumped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.
Couldn’t look at you. Not once. Not when you brought him his coffee. Not when you knelt to wipe something off Becca’s tray. Not when you turned around at the stove and the light hit your thighs just right.
Not when his cock twitched, again, already remembering the way your voice sounded when you moaned his name while another woman was fucking you.
Every time he closed his eyes, it was you. Not Sharon. Never Sharon.
You, with that soft voice and warm smile. You, who always touched his arm when you passed behind him. You, who smelled like rose and vanilla and temptation. You, who should not have been the subject of the thoughts that kept him hard through every shower.
It made him sick. No. Worse. It made him ashamed.
He wasn’t some teenage boy with no self-control. He was a married man. He had a daughter. He had a wife, even if—God help him—she hadn’t looked at him with anything close to warmth in over a year.
But you did. You looked at him like he mattered. You laughed at his jokes. You fed his daughter with love. You always listened when he spoke. You saw him.
And now…
Now he was stuck in this disgusting cycle where he’d try not to think about you—really try—only for his mind to spiral into images of your lips wrapped around his cock. Your eyes tear-glazed. Your thighs trembling as he fucked you open.
He hated himself for it.
He hated the way his hand would slide beneath the sheets before he could stop it. And worst of all, how he never lasted long. Because the version of you in his head? You begged him. You begged him to be rougher. You told him to use you. You moaned like a good girl, praised him for being big, for filling you so deep, for ruining you.
It wasn’t just sex. It was filth. And he liked it? He liked how dirty it was. How good it felt to imagine pulling your hair and hearing you cry his name.
And that—that—was what truly made him feel vile.
He was falling in love with a girl he should never touch. A girl who lived in his house, took care of his daughter, called him Mr. Barnes like she didn’t know he’d already fucked you a hundred times in his mind.
So every morning, he’d avoid your gaze. He’d sit at the table, quiet, shame burning in his throat like bile, while you handed him his coffee with a smile. He couldn’t even say your name without remembering how it sounded in his head when you screamed it.
James.
Bucky.
Daddy.
Please.
His cock twitched just thinking about it.
At first, he tried to rationalize it. Said it was because you were pretty. Young. Sweet. Barely mid-twenties, soft around the edges, kind to his daughter. It was natural, wasn’t it? To notice. To appreciate. He was still a man.
But then he started imagining things. Dark things. Depraved things.
You’d lean over to adjust Becca’s straps in the high chair and suddenly he’d picture you kneeling between his legs—eyes wide and innocent, mouth slick with spit as you smiled and waited for his permission to swallow.
In the middle of conversations, he’d zone out—watching the way your tongue flicked the tip of your thumb before turning a page in your book. And his brain would replace it with your lips stretched wide around him, spit and drool running down your chin as you gagged on his length. Eyes watery, proud of yourself.
Sometimes he’d lay next to Sharon, listening to her steady breath, and his mind would conjure you again—naked and whimpering under him, begging him not to stop. Telling him how good it feels. How full you are. How you’ve never taken anyone so big before.
And sometimes—
Sometimes you cried.
Tears down your cheeks, eyes glazed, voice wrecked from screaming his name—but you didn’t stop. You wanted it. Needed it. Told him you’d die if he didn’t fuck you again.
He’d wake up sweating.
Hard as a fucking rock. And ended up biting his fist when Sharon was asleep beside him, pumping his cock in furious silence—fantasizing about you, not his wife.
He didn’t even trust himself to shower anymore. Every time he did, it was like you were there. That perfume. That warmth. The ghost of your hands on his back, your lips at his shoulder, your voice cooing filth like it was a lullaby.
He’d brace his arm on the wall, bite down on his forearm, and pump himself in the shower so quick and quiet it felt like punishment. He didn’t even moan. Didn’t say your name. Just came with a grunt and then leaned his forehead to the tile, full of shame.
He hated how much he wanted you. Hated how it wasn’t just want anymore. It was… need. And it was rotting him alive, while you didn’t even seem to notice.
You kept walking around in those soft, low-cut tanks that didn’t hide a goddamn thing. No bra. No shame. You’d smile up at him with wide, warm eyes like you had no idea how badly you were undoing him.
You’d place your hand on his shoulder when you passed by. Brush your fingers across his palm when handing him Becca’s bottle. Press your chest against his back when reaching around him to grab a dish.
And he started to think… maybe you did know. Because sometimes, you’d look at him a second too long. Smile a second too slow.
And when you hugged Becca goodbye for her nap, you always bent just far enough to show the curve of your ass under those dresses. The sheer fabric clinging to the softness of your thighs.
One day, you’d been washing dishes at the sink. The afternoon light behind you, your nipples visibly tight through your dress. And he imagined walking up behind you, grabbing your hips, and taking you—right there against the counter. No words. No warning. Just you arching, whimpering, crying out as he fucked you rough and ugly until you couldn't stand.
Then he imagined doing it again. And again. And again.
Until your voice was hoarse and your thighs trembled and your handprint was on the glass above the sink.
He shook the image out of his head. But it always came back. Like rot under the floorboards. Like temptation under his skin.
You floated through the house like sunlight, soft hands and soft voice and soft dresses that clung to your hips when the breeze came through the windows. You smiled at him like you didn’t know what you were doing. Like you weren’t undoing him.
And maybe—maybe—you weren’t.
Maybe you really were that sweet. That good. That nurturing, soft-spoken little thing who had Becca asleep in her crib in six minutes flat, who never raised your voice, who left fresh tea in the microwave for him when he got home late from site.
But maybe not.
Maybe you knew exactly what you were doing when you leaned over to get a pan in the low cupboard, ass pushing back in those shorts. Maybe you meant for your shirt to slip off your shoulder when you stretched. Maybe you wanted him to think about you in the shower, fisting his cock like a sinner.
And those sounds had started getting more specific. Too specific.
He could hear you, sometimes. Hear you through the walls. Whimpers. Moans. Wet, lewd little noises. He told himself he was imagining it. But it always came right when he was trying not to think of you. Like something pulling him back in.
He’d catch himself staring. At the curve of your neck. The slope of your thighs. The little gap between your legs when you sat on the couch and crossed your ankles in that silky nightdress.
And the thoughts… they weren’t gentle anymore.
He didn’t just want to hold you, or kiss you. No.
He wanted to drag you onto the kitchen table and make you cry. He wanted to tear that dress in half and fuck you until you forgot your own name. He wanted to make you say his name. Over and over again.
He wanted to hear what you’d sound like with his hand on your throat. And that terrified him.
Because he wasn’t that man.
He loved his baby. He tried to love his wife. He wasn’t some perverted old man with a thing for the nanny.
But every time you bent over to kiss Becca’s cheek, he imagined how your mouth would feel on his cock.
Every time you called him “Mr. Barnes” in that voice—soft, low, lilting—he imagined how it would sound breathless, broken, whispered into his ear with his hand buried between your thighs.
You weren’t just sweet anymore. Not just the soft-voiced nanny with a kind smile and a calming touch. No—something darker had started seeping in, curling around you like cigarette smoke.
And it clung to him. No matter how hard he ignored it. No matter how hard he tried to fuck his wife and pretend it wasn’t you he was seeing when he came.
It had been building. And now it was snapping.
Sharon was gone. Becca was napping. The house was quiet, too quiet. And there you were.
In the kitchen. At the sink. Bubbles on your wrists. Hair up in a lazy little knot, neck bare and warm. Wearing his wife’s apron.
And smiling like you didn’t know.
Like you hadn’t been haunting his dreams, like you hadn’t been playing with yourself just down the hall from his marriage bed. Like you weren’t the goddamn devil.
He didn’t even realize he was walking until the glass in his hand banged on the kitchen island.
You turned just as he entered the room.
“Mr. Barnes,” you said sweetly, drying your hands, that same lilting voice you always used. “Want some tea? The honey and chamomile kind you like is—”
“Stop,” he snapped.
You blinked, head tilting just slightly. “Is everything okay?”
His jaw clenched, breath shallow, chest rising in hard bursts.
He stepped closer. “You’ve been toying with me.”
“Me?” You pressed your fingertips to your chest, looking perfectly bewildered. “I—I don’t know what you—”
“Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t lie to me.”
He was close now. Too close. The air shifted. The light seemed to dim as his presence crowded the room, heavy and unrelenting. His hand slammed against the cabinet beside your head, not touching you—but nearly. You didn’t flinch.
His voice dropped to something colder. Rougher.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You think I don’t hear you at night? The way you moan—fuck, the way you whimper my name in the dark—”
You parted your lips, only slightly, as if in protest. But said nothing.
“I’ve been seeing things,” he hissed. “You. In the mirrors. On top of me. Under me. Wearing nothing.” He laughed bitterly. “I wake up hard and ashamed and you’re always here in the kitchen the next morning, smiling like a little fucking saint. You think I don’t know?”
You looked at him for a long moment. Silent. Innocent. Your hands still smelled like soap and lemon.
“I think…” you said softly, with a little pout, “you might be confused, Mr. Barnes.”
His hand slammed against the cabinet again, louder this time.
“You don’t get to pretend anymore,” Bucky snapped.
You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted. “Pretend what?”
He let out a breath like he could barely hold himself in. His jaw was locked so tight it looked painful.
“That you’re just the fucking nanny.”
You tilted your head. “I am the nanny.”
“Cut the shit.”
His voice cracked around the words—rage barely masking the desperation underneath. You could feel it radiating off him like heat. Months of tension, of teasing glances, of him fucking his fist in the dark thinking about you and hating himself for it. It all hung in the air between you now, sticky and electric.
“You wear those little dresses on purpose,” he hissed. “You bend over when I’m in the room. You look at me like you want me to lose control.”
“I would never—” you started, placing your hand gently over his chest.
He stepped back like your touch burned him.
“I’ve been good,” he snarled, voice trembling. “I’ve kept my distance. I haven’t touched you. I’ve let you stay in this house. With my daughter.”
“And I’ve been good too,” you said softly, lips twitching with something too close to a smile. “I clean. I help with Becca. I’m always quiet when you and Sharon—”
“Don’t.” He flinched. “Don’t talk about her right now.”
You took a slow, careful step forward.
“I just want to make things easier for you, Mr. Barnes,” you whispered. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He backed up another step.
“You’re not sweet,” he snapped, pointing at you like he needed to convince himself. “You’re not innocent. You’re fucking—you’re the devil.”
“I’m just the nanny,” you said, eyes wide and lips pouty. “You’re scaring me.”
You were lying through your teeth, of course.
Inside, you were thrumming—heart pounding, thighs pressed together, blood roaring in your ears. He looked so unhinged, so wrecked, so close. You swore you could see his cock already hard through the fabric of his sweats, the outline thick and twitching as he tried to fight it. His chest heaved with every breath. His eyes kept flicking to your lips, your throat, the swell of your breasts.
You licked your bottom lip slowly, like you didn’t even know you were doing it. Just a nervous tick.
And that’s what broke him.
Something feral snapped in his chest.
He reached out and grabbed you hard—hands at your waist, yanking you forward so your body collided with his. You let out the softest gasp and blinked up at him, all faux-confusion and perfect submission.
“Is something wrong?” you asked sweetly.
He snarled, “You’re gonna fucking pay for this.”
One second, his hands were gripping your waist—tight, trembling—and the next, he was lifting you like you weighed nothing, your back hitting the edge of the cold marble counter with a thud.
You gasped, but didn’t fight it. Not even close.
His chest pressed to yours, his breath ragged as he hovered over you, eyes wild and unblinking like he barely recognized himself. Or maybe he did—maybe this was who he’d always been underneath.
“You walk around this house like some sweet little thing,” he growled, shoving your knees apart with one hand, the other curling around your jaw. “Smiling at me. Saying please and thank you like you’re fucking innocent.”
You blinked up at him, lips parted, heartbeat fluttering like hummingbird wings, “I just wanted to help…”
His laugh was low. Broken. Cruel.
“Bullshit.”
He shoved your skirt up—rough, fast, no care for fabric or modesty. The soft cotton bunched at your hips as his eyes dragged downward. He groaned when he saw you—no panties.
Of course.
“You’re not innocent,” he hissed. “You’re not sweet. You’re the fucking devil.”
His fingers slid between your thighs and you gasped, a choked sound you didn’t bother hiding. You were soaked. You knew it. You’d been soaked since the second he raised his voice.
“I thought you were an angel,” he muttered, voice husky as he rubbed slow, heavy circles against your clit. “The way you coo at my kid. The way you smile like the sun comes outta your mouth.”
His voice dropped lower. Meaner.
“But you’re not an angel. You’re a goddamn curse.”
You whimpered—quiet, like you didn’t understand. Like this was too much, too sudden.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you whispered.
He growled.
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
He leaned down, lips brushing your ear as his fingers dragged through your slick and then slapped against your cunt, making your thighs jolt and a low moan escape from you.
“You walk around this house with no panties like you’re not begging for this. You leave your bedroom door cracked so I can hear you. Moaning. Playing with yourself. Calling my name.”
He pushed two thick fingers inside you and you gasped—legs jerking, your back arching against the cabinets behind you.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he spat.
You looked up at him, blinking like you were confused, lips parted, chest heaving.
“…I—I just wanted to be helpful.”
He laughed again, teeth bared, and fucked his fingers deeper.
“Liar.”
His fingers worked deeper—thick and wet inside you, the heel of his palm grinding up against your clit with every thrust. Your hips were already starting to twitch, legs falling wider apart on the counter. You looked like a dream. A hallucination. A trap disguised in skin.
Still, you played the part.
Soft moans spilled from your lips, breathy little whimpers like you didn’t know what was happening. Like you didn’t know what you were doing to him. Your hands gripped the edge of the counter behind you, knuckles white, lips parted.
“M-Mr. Barnes…” you gasped, fluttering around his fingers. “That’s not— this isn’t appropriate…”
He snarled under his breath and shoved his fingers deeper, faster, twisting them just right. The wet sounds were obscene in the silence of the kitchen. The marble was cool beneath your thighs. Everything else was fire.
“You’re soaked,” he growled. “Soaked and shaking. You wanna pretend this is some accident?”
You bit your bottom lip. And then—
Your hips rolled down into his hand. Your fingers crept forward and curled in the collar of his shirt. And your voice… oh, your voice turned darker.
“Such a bad husband,” you whispered, the words dripping from your lips like venom in honey. “Neglecting your wife. Fucking the nanny in your kitchen.”
His entire body jolted.
Your lashes fluttered as you looked up at him, all sugar and sin. “What would she say if she saw you like this?” you murmured. “Two fingers deep in the babysitter while your daughter sleeps upstairs.”
His jaw flexed.
You smiled.
“I always thought you were lonely,” you cooed. “Watching me. Wanting me. Touching yourself and pretending it wasn’t me you were thinking about.”
He groaned—low and broken—and crooked his fingers just right, dragging against the spot that made your knees shake.
“Poor thing,” you gasped, still teasing, still sweet. “Didn’t she give you what you needed? Is that why you’re so desperate now?”
He growled and slapped your clit with his slick fingers—once, then again. You cried out, bucking into the sensation, breath caught in your throat.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Say what you are.”
You gasped, eyes locked with his.
“I’m the nanny,” you whispered.
He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound and grabbed your jaw.
You smiled.
“…and your filthy little secret.”
He yanked your face toward him, mouth crushed to yours in a brutal, messy kiss—no sweetness, no hesitation. Just teeth, spit, heat. His fingers were still slick with your arousal as they fisted in your hair, tugging your head back.
“You’ve been begging for this,” he rasped. “Every look. Every little dress. Walking around this house like you fucking own me.”
You gasped against his mouth. “I do.”
That was all it took.
He stepped back just enough to free himself—shoving his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free, flushed and angry, leaking at the tip. You moaned at the sight of it. Thick. Heavy. Already twitching for you.
“Spread your fucking legs,” he growled.
You did it slow—almost mocking—dragging your heels up onto the edge of the counter, thighs falling open for him like a promise. Your cunt glistened, soaking wet and so ready for him, fluttering around nothing.
“Look at you,” he muttered, staring down at your dripping hole like he hated you for it. “Fucking dripping for me. Goddamn whore.”
And then he lined himself up and slammed into you.
You cried out—head falling back, hands flying to grip the counter as he bottomed out in one punishing thrust. Your walls clamped around him instantly, fluttering, sucking him deeper, and he groaned—loud, guttural, like he’d waited years for this.
“Fuck—fuck, you’re tight,” he gasped. “You’ve been walking around this house like this? With this perfect pussy just waiting to be fucked?”
You moaned, high and helpless. “Mr. Barnes…”
His hips snapped forward, driving into you harder. Rougher. The counter rattled beneath your ass, your body jostling with every thrust.
“What’s my name?” he snarled.
“James,” you gasped.
He growled again—more animal than man—and leaned down, hand wrapped around your throat now as he fucked into you like it was a punishment.
“You think this is what good girls do?” he hissed. “Let married men fuck them in their kitchens while their baby sleeps upstairs?”
You choked out a laugh—broken, breathless.
“Good girls don’t exist,” you moaned. “Not in houses like this.”
You clenched around him and he nearly collapsed forward, forehead dropping to yours.
“You’re sick,” he panted.
“I’m yours.”
His cock throbbed inside you at that, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt again and again, each thrust angrier than the last.
“Tell me I’m better than her,” you whispered, eyes rolling back. “Tell me that I'm a better fuck than she ever was.”
He bit your shoulder. Hard. His grip bruised your hips.
“You fuck me like you hate me,” you breathed. “And it’s so—fucking—good.”
He went rabid.
His thrusts got harder, meaner—hips snapping into yours, cock dragging against the deepest part of you like he wanted to bruise it. Like he wanted to own the shape of your insides.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he growled, voice wrecked. “I should’ve done this the first night. Should’ve bent you over that goddamn crib and—”
“Then why didn’t you?” you gasped, legs trembling around his hips. “Too scared to fuck the nanny, Bucky?”
He slammed into you so hard the entire counter jolted, dishes rattling in the sink.
“Watch your mouth,” he hissed. “You’re fucking lucky I don't tie you up and leave you in the basement for this.”
You let out a soft, breathless moan, hands curling in the front of his shirt.
“Oh, I’d like that,” you whispered. “All alone in the dark with nothing but your cock.”
He groaned like it hurt him.
Your cunt clenched around him as he fucked into you harder, faster, chasing the high with wild eyes and flushed skin. You swore you saw him falter—like he was close—and you smiled, soft and teasing, like it wasn’t ruining you just the same.
“You’re gonna cum,” you murmured, smug and dreamy. “Inside me. While your wife’s name is still on the mail.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he panted, but his voice cracked.
“You’re such a bad husband,” you gasped. “Fucking the nanny in your kitchen. Putting a baby to bed and then stuffing me full. You think Becca’s gonna call me mommy someday?”
He snapped.
One hand flew to your throat, forcing your back down flat to the counter as he bent over you, snarling into your ear, fucking you harder than ever—rough and punishing, each thrust punching the air from your lungs.
“Shut. Up,” he growled. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
You moaned, drooling now, skin sticking to your chin. He was hitting something inside you over and over, and you were shaking—legs trembling, walls fluttering around him.
“I do,” you breathed. “I know everything. I know you think about me more than her. I know your cock’s harder when I’m around. I know you came in your pants the night you caught me in my room—”
He groaned and then he broke.
His hips faltered, one last thrust burying him deep as his whole body seized—cock twitching, thick heat spilling inside you in messy pulses. He came with a shuddering gasp, forehead pressed to your neck, his breath stuttering across your breasts.
And still—you clenched around him. Still trembling, still smiling.
He stayed there, cock softening inside you, the kitchen thick with the scent of sex and sweat and sin. The baby monitor crackled faintly on the counter.
When he collapsed onto you—his chest was heavy on your body, forehead damp where it pressed into your collarbone. His arms wrapped around your waist, trembling slightly, knuckles white from how hard he’d been gripping the counter just moments before.
You could feel him shudder with every breath. Silent. Shaking. Wrecked.
You turned your head slightly, eyes fluttering shut as you exhaled through a dreamy, satisfied sigh.
He’d finally broken.
And it had been so, so beautiful.
You threaded your fingers through his hair—slow and gentle, like you were soothing a feverish child. You stroked the damp strands carefully, tenderly. His breathing was shallow. Disoriented. Like he didn’t know where he was anymore. Or who he was.
“Shhh,” you whispered. “You did so good for me, James.”
No answer. Just his breath ghosting over your skin. Hot. Human. Still inside you. Still twitching.
You shifted your hips slightly—just a tiny, intentional grind—and he groaned softly, like he couldn’t take it. Like it hurt and healed him at the same time.
Your walls fluttered around him again. Slow. Lazy. Wet and warm. You kept moving.
A slow rock, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn’t being milked for every last drop of cum. You clenched, then relaxed, clenching again like your pussy was thanking him.
You smiled to yourself.
He made a sound behind you. Broken. Hoarse.
“I… I can’t—” His voice cracked. “I can’t stop.”
And there it was. The confession. The prayer.
You turned your head just enough to kiss his cheek. Delicate. Final. Your voice was soft enough to damn him.
“You don’t have to.”
He let out a strangled breath—and you felt it. The twitch. The way his cock started to harden inside you again, like his body belonged to yours now.
Like something sacred had been corrupted, and he was already aching to do it again.
You laughed. Quietly. Innocently.
Your hand cupped the back of his neck, your fingers still tangled in his hair, and you pulled him tighter against you.
“I’ll help you,” you whispered. “Every time. Every night.”
He didn’t answer. He just stayed buried in you. Letting himself get hard again. Letting it happen.
You knew he was ashamed of what he did.
You saw it in the way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours in the mornings, the way he kissed his wife’s cheek with trembling lips and unsteady hands. The way he held his daughter a little tighter, like she might disappear too.
You knew he was mourning something. He’d broken every vow that ever mattered.
To his wife. To God. To the man he once thought he was.
Because he used to be a good man. The kind who stood up straight and shook hands. The kind who tucked his daughter in every night and kissed his wife’s cheek with nothing but loyalty in his chest. The kind who would’ve slammed the door in your face the second you smiled too sweetly or reached for something that wasn’t yours.
But you changed that. You took that.
Not a person. Not a loss. But himself.
That man had vanished the second he stepped between your thighs. The moment your cunt clenched around him, wet and wanting, and he heard himself moan like he’d been starving for years—
That man died.
And the one left behind? He kept coming back. But when he did, he didn’t speak the first few times.
Not beyond gritted teeth and filthy words spat into your mouth, not beyond the hoarse way he groaned your name when he came so deep inside you that you felt it for hours. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t make promises, didn’t beg forgiveness.
He just kept fucking you.
Like it was a need. A curse. A habit so deeply embedded in his skin that he didn’t know how to exist without it anymore.
You’d feel him in the morning—standing behind you while you washed a bottle, still in your nightgown. His hand curling around your hip. His cock pressing into your ass. And then you’d be bent over the counter again, your cheek to the marble, his hand in your hair, fucking you full while the baby slept upstairs.
He liked fucking you where it started. Said you looked best bent over the counter. Said the sound of your slick dripping on the tile made him lose his mind.
Sometimes it was the living room—you in one of your cardigans, curled up with a book, pretending not to notice him staring. Until he stalked across the room, took the book from your hands, and dragged you down onto the rug to use you.
Other times it was the laundry room. You were folding Becca’s clothes, sweet and humming, when he walked in and wordlessly lifted you onto the dryer, pushing your panties aside, fucking into you so fast and filthy that the machine rocked beneath your thighs. He kept a hand over your mouth, whispering “Be quiet, baby. Be good. Be good.” You came twice before the cycle finished.
And eventually…
His bed.
Their marital bed.
That was the night Sharon left town for a conference.
You wore nothing but one of his shirts. You’d slipped into their room like you belonged there, curled into the sheets like you wanted to be caught.
He didn’t even turn the light on. He just climbed over you and slid into your body like he was home.
He didn’t say a word as he fucked you into the mattress he used to share with his wife. Didn’t blink when you moaned his name into her pillow.
Didn’t flinch when you said, soft as a prayer, “Was I better than her again tonight?”
He never answered.
But you always knew the truth.
Because no matter how ashamed he was… No matter how much he tried to hold onto the man he once was…
He always came back to you. Came in you.
Again and again and again.
It happened one night—just like you'd always known it would.
He left her.
Not for good. Not officially. Not in the way that would cause gossip or divorce papers or screaming matches downstairs. No.
But in the quiet, in the dark—he left her.
The mattress shifted sometime after midnight, and she didn’t stir. Didn’t notice the way his body slipped from beside hers. Didn't notice how he stood at the door, hand on the frame, breath caught in his throat like he already knew where he was going.
He padded down the hallway barefoot. Past the nursery. Past the room with the door always slightly ajar.
And straight to you.
You didn’t say a word when the knob turned. You didn’t need to. You were already awake. You always were when he came to you like this.
You just sat up slowly, your nightgown slipping off one shoulder, the sheet pooling in your lap, eyes sleepy-soft like a woman who was used to being visited. Used.
He didn’t speak. He just came to you, and you opened your arms.
He fucked you slow that night. Not like the others. Not like the countertop or the dryer or the nursery floor.
This wasn’t need. This was seeking.
He moved inside you like he didn’t want to finish—hips grinding, cock heavy and thick inside your soaked cunt as you held him close, your hands in his hair, your thighs around his waist.
And when he started to shake—when his voice broke against your throat and he buried his face between your breasts—you didn’t tease.
You just stroked his back. Whispered sweet nothings into his ear like lullabies.
Like comfort. The kind he never got from her.
“You’re okay,” you whispered. “You’re safe now.”
You felt him tremble. You felt his cock throb inside you. You felt every inch of him that he tried to pretend didn’t need this.
Because you gave him something Sharon never did. Warmth. Softness. Devotion. Greedy devotion, yes—but real all the same. And in return, he gave you everything. His weight. His breath. His brokenness. His love—even if he still couldn’t call it that.
Because he told himself it wasn’t love.
Even as he stayed the night. Even as he kissed your shoulder when he thought you were asleep. Even as he whispered your name like it meant something.
He clung to the lie. That this was just sex. Just release. Just weakness.
But you knew better. You knew it in the way he held you after. Head against your chest like he wanted to disappear inside you. Arms around your waist like he never wanted to leave.
You knew he loved you.
He had loved Sharon once—but never like this. Never with his soul in his throat. Never with tears in his eyes.
He could go back to that bed every night. But this was the only place he ever truly slept.
You liked watching him sleep. Not in that way that meant curiosity. Or affection. Not the kind of watching a wife might do in passing, noting the twitch of his brow or the slow rise of his chest.
No.
You watched him like you were planning.
His mouth slack. His arm draped over your body. His wedding ring still catching the faint silver of the moonlight from the window.
So vulnerable. So trusting. So… yours.
You’d fucked him to sleep. Whispered sweet things while he came inside you, soft and trembling. He’d pressed his face into your neck and moaned your name like a confession.
Now you imagined how you'd kill him.
Maybe it would be slow. A blade. Right between the ribs, angled upward into the heart. He’d wake with your name on his lips, and you’d kiss his forehead while he bled into your hands.
Or maybe it would be soft. Hands around his throat. A gentle press. No struggle. Just your eyes on his as his body relaxed into the truth of it. Into you.
Or quieter still. A pillow, held gently over his face, your body straddling his while you grind down against his cock one last time. He wouldn’t even cry out. He’d just give in.
Because it wouldn’t be murder.
It would be love.
You weren’t taking anything from him. You were giving him forever.
No more sneaking out of his wife’s bed. No more pretending he didn’t need you. No more guilt. No more shame. No more leaving you behind.
Once he was dead, he’d stay. He’d haunt the nursery with you. He’d fuck you against the walls for eternity. He’d hold your undead-body in his arms when the wind howled and the pipes screamed and the new tenants cried that they couldn’t sleep.
You and him. Together. Always.
That wasn’t a curse. It was the purest kind of devotion. The ultimate act of love.
And when he looked at you—just before the final breath, just before the lights dimmed in those beautiful, broken eyes—he’d understand.
Bucky stirred a little in his sleep—tightened his arm around you, nuzzled his face into your chest like a child. You smiled.
Not tonight. But soon.
And when the time came, you’d do it slow. You’d do it right.
You’d bind his soul to the house the same way yours had been bound. Tie him to you with blood and lust and finality.
And he’d never leave you again. Because he couldn’t. Because he wouldn’t want to.
a/n | he still doesn’t know she’s dead. that’s the best part. bucky’s gone full “i fucked the nanny and now I can’t stop” mode. you’re gone. he’s gone. we’re all going to hell.
i love Sharon Carter. i swear. i’m just using her as narrative seasoning for ghost smut. she did nothing wrong except marry a man haunted by the sexiest nanny alive.
comment your favorite depraved moment below.
would you consider writing a rick grimes fic where maybe like the night in the barn in season 5 the group are in close proximity and the reader and rick are getting down and dirty (hes dirty talking FILTHY) but the rest of the group are still awake and hear them? like her moaning and saying dirty shit and some of them enjoying listening? daryl and abraham)🙈
Hi!! so this may not be exactly what you had in mind but the prompt gave me a vision and now we have this 😭
Tags : voyeurism, semi-public sex, dirty talk (poorly written probably), ricks kind of a dick
You couldn’t sleep after the storm. The rest of your family all but collapsed once the danger passed, but not you. The adrenaline rush was still coursing through your veins, making your heart race.
Lucky for you though, you weren’t the only one.
“God, you’re fucking desperate for it.” Rick hissed in your ear, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you fucked yourself on his cock.
Rick had pulled you into the little room at the front of the barn. Not a word was spoken, he just took your wrist and lead the way, you following behind him without question. The moment the door closed you were on each other, mouths connecting in a rough kiss as you ripped each other’s pants off.
Now the two of you sat on the dirty, hay covered floor, fucking like animals in heat.
You were straddling Rick, bouncing up and down on his cock and moaning into your hand. Ricks hold on you was sure to leave bruises as he guided your movements, rolling your hips with each come down.
“I don’t even have to do anything, just sit back and watch you fall apart on my cock.” Rick smirked, confident and relaxed. His eyes gave him away, though, showing you just how much your movements were affecting him. Glazed over, pupils blown and eyelids fluttering closed here and there. It was that look that made you moan a little too loud.
One of Ricks hands slid up your body to grip the back of your neck, pulling down to tuck your head into his shoulder, “Shh baby, not too loud. Unless you want an audience, of course.”
You moan into his shirt, moving your hips impossibly faster.
Then there was a noticeable pause. You expected Rick to make a mean comment, tease you about your obvious reaction to being watched. Instead he was quiet, so quiet were almost worried. But then, Rick did something unexpected.
He laughed.
Rick gave genuine laugh, one straight from his belly, and you frowned. Pausing your movements, painful as it was, you tried to lean back to ask him what was so funny. You barely lifted your head before Rick was grabbing your jaw and forcibly turning your head around, “Looks like we’ve already got one.”
You blink wide eyed as you look through the, apparently not, closed door to see Daryl.
Despite how dark it was, you could see him with the moonlight peaking through the barn doors. He was clearly embarrassed about being caught, his thumb caught between his teeth in that nervous habit of his, but he wasn’t leaving. Daryl stood leaning against one of the barn’s beams, eyes glued to you and Rick.
You involuntarily clenched around Rick, causing him to groan before he hissed in your ear, “Turn around, face him.”
Standing on shaky legs, you do as he says. Ricks cock sliding out of you caused a shiver of loss to roll through you, but the slide back in with the new angle made your eyes roll back. The feeling only intensified when your eyes met Daryl’s again.
You watch him straighten up a little, adjusting his lean on the barn beam, and his thumb lowers from his mouth.
A whine crawls out of your throat and you feel Rick lean in close to your ear, “Now, be good and put on a show for him.”
Nodding, you reach back to place your hands on Ricks hips for some stability and begin moving again. You lift yourself up and down, rolling your hips every so often, enjoying the new position. You felt Ricks hand reach up to slap over your mouth, silencing your overly loud cries.
And the whole time, you kept your eyes locked with Daryl’s.
The other man was clearly affected, once again shifting his stance and loosely crossing one leg over the other. Daryl’s gaze was shifting between you and Rick, and you had no doubt that your leader was also watching the hunter.
“You’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you?” Rick whispers in your ear, “Riding my dick while Daryl watches, wishing he was fucking you instead.”
Another noise forces it’s way out of your mouth, nodding again around Ricks grip on your jaw. You watch as Daryl suddenly rubs the heel of his hand against his crotch, and you just barely hear him give a hissed “Fuck.”
The sight makes you clench around Rick as you roll your hips down, feeling him deep inside of your pussy. He groans, a little louder this time, and you feel his head drop onto your shoulder blade.
“Come on baby, show him how good I make you feel,” Rick says, voice strained and his grip tightening, “Cum for me and make him hate that it’s not for him.”
The coil of heat in your abdomen boils over before you even register its there, your body convulsing with the intensity of your orgasm. Your nails dig into Ricks hips, sobbing into his hand, and with another groan you feel Rick cum. He fills you up, fucking his seed deep inside of you as your hips stutter in their movements.
It was all so much that you almost forgot you were being watched. Opening your teary eyes, though, you were met with Daryl’s sharp gaze and another wave of pleasure shot down your spine. The man was clearly hard, the tent in his worn jeans unmistakable. One of his hands slides down to once again palm at his erection, while the other covers his mouth.
Daryl looked nothing short of desperate.
Rick gently lifts you up, sliding his spent cock out of your still spasming pussy, and chuckles, “Now he gets to deal with the consequences of his actions.”
voyer daryl feels very correct to me tbh also rick thinking daryl’s jealous because he wants to fuck you when actually daryl’s enjoying watching rick just as much as he’s enjoying watching you hehehe
i absolutely love this!! thankyou for bringing my idea to life🫶🏼 the way rick loves that daryl’s watching but still shows his possessiveness over us *chefs kiss*
── .✦ Alexandria was a new start to a new life, one that included dinner parties with alcohol ꒰ MDNI/18+, jealousy, possessive!rick, drunk/rough sex, creampie ꒱ wc : 2.8k Part One
The party was in full swing. Happy chatter and clinking glasses filling the quiet, the smell of fresh food making the air smell warm. The unfamiliarity of what was once normal makes you almost uncomfortable.
The glass of wine you had fixed that right up.
You smile at the man in front of you, Spencer you think his name was, as he talks about a woman who keeps badgering everyone about a pasta maker. He laughs at his own joke and you giggle along without really hearing what he said.
Okay maybe you’ve had more than one glass of wine.
You couldn’t help yourself though, it’s been quite a while since you’ve been able to drink. Not to mention the need to quell your anxiety about even being here in the first place.
And then there was Rick.
Rick, who you’ve been in love with since the farm. Rick, who has danced around you almost like he was afraid of his feelings. Rick, who told you you’re too young for him.
Rick, who has been sticking close to Jessie since you all got here.
You watched him from across Deanna’s living room, smiling as he drank whiskey and chatted with the beautiful woman.
It made your chest hurt.
You’re too young. I’m almost twice your age.
It also made your head spin.
I will break your fucking legs if I have to, if you push me to, in order to keep you from going. You understand?
The difference between his words of youth and the way he looked at you after his threat were stark. Leaving you confused, especially now.
Rick had apologized to you, back in Noah’s old community, after the two of you split off from Glenn and Michonne.
“You know I would never hurt you, right?” He said, not meeting your eye.
You nodded, “I know.”
The way Rick’s shoulders slumped after that told you how much he regretted what he said. Yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that, if a similar situation presented itself, he would do it again.
That had to mean something, right?
And yet…
“So, how did you end up with Rick and the rest of your group?” Spencer asks, breaking you from your thoughts.
After taking another long pull from your quickly depleting glass of wine, you answer, “Well i’ve known some of them since the beginning of all this, like Glenn and Rick. Others we’ve met along the way. And we’re not just a group, we’re a family.”
Spencer nodded and held his hands up in mock surrender, “My bad, your family. Everyone in this community has become something like a family too, but I doubt it’s the same as yours.”
“No offense but, yeah, it’s not the same.” You chuckle and are relieved when he does too.
After a moment Spencer leans in a little closer, and you’re just drunk enough to let him, “You know, you guys were pretty scary looking when you first came in.”
Giggling again you raise an eyebrow at him, “Really?”
“Yeah, especially Rick-“ Spencer’s sentence is cut off by the call of your name, and you turn to see Rick. He’s not looking at you though, despite addressing you, his eyes are pinned to Spencer.
“Speak of the devil.” You chuckle, turning yourself so you can face both men, “We were just talking about you.”
“Were you now?” Rick says, his voice deep and the smile he wore not meeting his eyes.
You could tell something was off, you’d seen that look on Rick’s face before, but your drunken mind ignored it, “Yeah, apparently everyone was scared of you when we first got here.”
“Really?” Rick replied, eyes still pinned on Spencer, “No reason to be, unless you cross me, of course.”
There was a threat hidden in there, and when you turned to look at Spencer you noticed just how pale he was, “You know, I actually forgot that I was supposed to help my brother with something in the kitchen. It was great talking to the both of you though.”
“You too.” Rick replied before you could, and then Spencer was gone, like he was never even there in the first place.
You turned and frowned at Rick, “What was that?”
“Nothing.” He grumbled, polishing off the glass of whiskey you hadn’t realized he had, before finally looking at you, “Just don’t talk to him anymore.”
Your eyes widen in surprise before narrowing at Rick, “And why not?”
“Because.” Rick all but growls, his eyes hardening, jaw clenching, obviously telling you to just drop it and listen to him.
But you’re now officially four glasses of wine deep and pissed off, “I can talk to whoever I want. Now why don’t you go back to flirting with Jessie and leave me alone.”
You turn to walk away, maybe go find Deanna’s sons in the kitchen and really try to piss Rick off, but Ricks hand quickly wraps around your bicep and pulls you around to face him again, “Don’t.”
The word is spit at you, and this whole situation reminds you of that moment in the woods. A threat you haven’t been able to forget about no matter how hard you try. Hating the way it affects you in a way it really shouldn’t.
Glaring right back at him you rip your arm from his grip, “Fuck this, i’m going back to the house.”
You get away this time, stumbling a little as you go, only hearing a frustrated call of your name behind you.
The cool night air is nice against your heated skin. You didn’t even realize you were that warm until you stepped out.
The walk back to the houses Deanna gave you guys is slow. You stumble your way through the sidewalks of the suburban paradise, trying to calm the anger that bubbles under your skin.
The nerve of that asshole.
About half way there, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. You already know who it is before you turn around, being able to make out the sound of those boots even drunk.
Just as you suspected, Rick is quickly approaching, almost jogging in order to catch up with you.
“Go away, Rick.”
“You shouldn’t walk around alone at night drunk.” Rick snaps, finally making it to you to walk just a step behind you. Like he’s guarding you.
“Even drunk I can take on any of these sheltered kids.” You scoff, trying to ignore his presence.
“Still-“
“Still what, Rick?” You snap, whirling around to glare at him. “You’re drunk too, hypocrite, so it’s not much better.”
“Quit acting like a child.” Rick hisses, his nose doing that scrunching thing it does when he’s extra angry.
“I’m acting like a child? Me?!”
“Yes-“
“You’re the one who scared off a guy for simply talking to me!” You shout, way too loud for the still of the night. “Despite the fact that you have been flirting with someone all night!”
“I wasn’t flirting with Jessie.” Rick says, getting closer to you.
You back away from him though, trying to keep a healthy distance so that your anger doesn’t fizzle out from just his proximity, “Yeah right, you’ve been plastered to her since we fucking got here.”
When he doesn’t respond, your heart sinks, so you continue on, having nothing to lose, “Why do you even care if I talk to a cute guy anyway, huh? Thought I was “too young” for you.”
Rick was closing the distance again, grabbing both of your arms, forcing you to stay. “Stop.”
There’s that tone again.
“You know,” You start with a humorless chuckle, “For a guy who claims to not want me, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”
“I never said I didn’t want you.” He snapped, face so close to yours you could smell the whiskey on his breath.
Your eyes widen, his eyes widen, and you speak before he gets the chance to backpedal, “Then do something to keep me. Something that isn’t threatening to break my legs.”
It’s silent for a long, agonizing time. Rick just staring at you, still holding your arms and keeping you close. Your warm breaths fog in the cold night air, fanning each other’s faces and the tension is so palpable you can almost taste it.
Then suddenly he’s moving, stepping around you and gripping your wrist to tug you the rest of the way to the house. You wordlessly stumble after him, even without his grip you would follow him.
Once the two of you make it to the house, Rick all but drags you up the porch steps. The front door opens and closes so fast you don’t even register entering the house until your back is pressed against the wood. The loud slamming of the door gives you both pause, waiting and listening to see if any of your family had slipped away from the party early too.
The lack of response leaves the two of you staring at each other in the quiet again. Instead this time it isn’t in the cool night air, but inside a warm house that continues to grow warmer.
With Rick crowding you against the door, hot alcohol tinged breath’s mixing, and his eyes flicking down to your lips, you couldn’t help but beg, “Please.”
And finally, finally, Rick Grimes leans down and kisses you.
It’s slow at first, just a solid press of lips as you both sigh into it. Then he begins to move his lips against yours, running his tongue along the seam, and you kiss back, opening your mouth for him. The mixing taste of wine and whiskey makes your head dizzy and you moan, bringing your arms up to wrap around his shoulders.
Rick groans, his hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling you closer. His hands slide around your back, down over your ass, squeezing it in a way that makes your breath hitch into his mouth, before slipping down to grab the back of your thighs. You instinctually jump, wrapping your legs around his waist. His hands tighten their hold on you, keeping you up, and your back hits the door again.
The kiss quickly grows desperate, your fingers tugging at his freshly cut hair, missing his curls. Rick makes a deep noise in the back of his throat and removes his lips from yours, dragging them down your jaw to lick at your throat.
You moan embarrassingly loud, pulling him closer, “Bedroom, please, need you.”
Rick nods against your neck, taking one last moment to suck a nice red mark on the curve of your jaw, and takes a step back. You tuck yourself closer, letting Rick look at where he’s going, using the opportunity to kiss and lick and suck on his neck. His hold on you tightens, and he slides a hand across your ass, holding you with one arm as he starts up the stairs.
You press a wet, open mouth kiss against his pulse and Rick stumbles a little. He reaches out to find balance on the railing, hissing out “shit” and making you giggle.
“You got this.” You tease, leaning up to bite at his ear.
Rick groans again, whether from frustration or pleasure, you can’t tell, and grunts, “Shut up.”
You can hear the smile in his voice.
Slowly and carefully, Rick gets both of you up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Kicking the door closed and flicking on a light, he lays you down on the bed and kisses you again. His tongue pushes into your mouth, his hands on either side of your head holding him up, and you desperately start untucking his shirt.
Rick sits up and pulls his button-up and undershirt off in one go, leaving his torso bare. You stare up at him, dazed from the kisses and the man on top of you, and realize that this is happening.
This is actually happening.
“Fuck.” You whisper, and reach up to fumble with his belt buckle. The sound of the metal is way more obscene than it should be, and once you pull the leather through his belt loops you look up at him. Rick’s lips are parted as he stares at you, eyes dark as they move between your hands at his waist and your eyes.
Suddenly he was pulling your shirt over your head, his fingers gliding along your skin as he did so, “You too.”
You nodded and reached around the unclasp your bra. Once free you shrugged out of the straps and threw it in a random direction, not caring where it landed, and looked back up at Rick.
That look was back on his face.
“Fuck,” Rick whispered, bending down again to kiss along your neck, across your shoulders, nip at your collarbone, before sucking in the skin of your breast. You moan, arching up into his touch and reaching down to start shimmying out of your jeans and underwear.
“Why haven’t we done sooner?” Rick slurred against your skin, his tongue lapping at your nipple.
Kicking yourself free of your bottom layers you grab Rick’s hand, that was busy massaging your other breast, and slide it down the length of your body until it was between your legs, “Got only yourself to blame.”
Rick moans, loud and unabashedly, and immediately curls his fingers inside of you. You’re already wet, have been since he kissed you, so the feeling of his fingers slipping inside your pussy makes you whine your own noises of pleasure.
His fingers curve up, instantly finding that sweet spot that makes you see stars, and start grinding into you. Rick leans his head back up to yours, kissing you deeply before whispering, “I’ll make it up to you.”
You nod, and keep nodding like you’re incapable of stopping. The squelching sound of his ministrations is almost embarrassing, and you move your hand still gripping his wrist to the button of his jeans.
“Please,” You beg, already so far gone you don’t even care anymore, pulling the button loose, “Please fuck me, I need it so bad.”
Suddenly Rick’s fingers were gone, his hands batting yours away as he unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. He didn’t even fully take them off, and you watched him stroke himself with his slicked fingers a couple of times before settling between your legs and pushing inside of you.
You cry out, hands grasping at the bed sheets and toes curling, the sudden fullness makes your back arch up into his. Rick doesn’t give you a moment to adjust or even finish a moan before he’s moving, quick and almost brutal. The clapping sound of your hips meeting is almost deafening but you still hear his curse, “Fuck, you feel better than I imagined.”
His words cause goosebumps to rise on your skin, and you reach up to pull him close, locking him into another kiss.
Both of you are moaning messes, huffing into each other’s mouth and eyes rolling. It’s perfect, so perfect it would bring you to tears if your eyes weren’t already filled with one’s brought by pleasure. You can feel the heat in your abdomen growing, pulling you closer and closer to the edge.
Rick suddenly pulls back to look at you, and you struggle to keep your eyes open to focus on him as he all but growls out, “Don’t talk to him again. You so much as laugh at his joke and I’ll fucking kill him, got it?”
You’re nodding again nonstop, and your tears finally spill down your cheeks, “G-got it. Fuuuck.”
“Yeah, let yourself go. Cum on my cock, mine, nobody else’s.” Rick dips his head down into the curve of your neck, sucking down on your pulse.
That was all you needed. Your nails claw into Rick’s back you cum, back arching and legs shaking as you moan obscenely.
“That’s it, fuck, just like that- s-shit.” Rick’s hips stuttered as he came inside of you, filling you up even more and pulling another moan from you.
The pleasure racking through your body was almost painful, and you held onto Rick tightly as you came down from your high. Slowly your limbs began to feel like jello and your eyes grew heavy, and before you could stop yourself you were slipping into unconsciousness.
—
Your pounding headache was the first thing you registered when you woke up. Next was the stiffness in your body, then the horrible taste in your mouth.
But then there was the comforting weight of an arm holding you tight against a warm chest. Small puffs of air rhythmically hitting the back of your neck, a pair of legs tangled with yours under warm sheets.
The fuzzy memories of the previous night filled your mind’s eye. You smile, eyes still firmly shut, and relax further into the warmth of Rick behind you.
nomad steve is a big fat fuckin MUNCH. idc idc idc. nobody can change my mind. that man eats pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. he is STARVED.
you wake up? his head is in between your thighs. your working? he wants you to sit on his face while you do it. your doing the dishes? best believe that man is on his knees tongue deep inside your pussy desperate to have you cream all over his face. making comments like
“you just looked so good baby i couldn’t help it, had to get a taste of you”
“you like it when daddy sucks on your clit while you finish your chores? yeah? fuckin dirty girl”
“fuck honey, cum in daddy’s mouth, come on give it to me”
“pussy tastes like fuckin heaven”
one thing he does not stand for is hovering. when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit on it. he’ll be grabbing your hips, pulling you down onto his face, his rough beard rubbing against your thighs while his tongue explores your dripping heat and you know damn well he eats it in the morning so he can smell your pussy on his facial hair during the day, his tongue darting out to lick over his moustache, savouring the taste of your juices.
your spread missionary as he suckles and nibbles on your clit, his fingers fucking into you at a desperate pace, missing the taste of your cream even though he’s already had you twice today, his mouth opening wide as you writhe and squirt on his tongue, watching him as he moans and grunts, his hips rocking into the mattress beneath him as he fills his boxers with hot n sticky ropes of cum
“jesus christ” he breathes, “got me cumming in my pants like a damn teenager sweet girl, thats how fuckin good your pussy tastes.”
rick “just the tip because she’s 15 years younger than me and shaking like a leaf with big, blown out pupils and sweat & lip gloss sticky lips puffing out as she waits for me to slip inside” grimes, i love you ꨄ
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mandatory mdni. you were not tagged in this because you are not over 18.
summary: in his attempt to break you, in-ho breaks himself
pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader
warnings & content: age gap, masturbation, voyeurism, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, veeeery slow burn, reader’s dad is dead
w/c: 2k
a/n: this is my half-assed attempt at writing a game lol. if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can’t find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.
Neolttwigi had been another success. The seesaw game eliminated 91 people, and with 97 remaining players, In-ho proceeded with tuho. He paid close attention to the masked soldiers who directed the survivors to the same place where they had previously played Red Light, Green Light, only the floor was divided by a bright blue line in the middle. The ceiling was open, letting players experience natural light for a second time in a row.
The game was awfully simple — throwing arrows into the neck of a jar. In-ho remembered reading about that game in school, how it was played by royal families and the upper class before becoming a game for everyone, and the jar had a narrow neck, making it easy to miss the mark. He had rarely played it as a child, preferring juldarigi or squid, games he taught his younger brother.
It became a habit for him to check the cameras in his penthouse whenever you were there. It brought him a strange peace of mind knowing that Eunjoo was safe in your hands, but he couldn't, for the life of him, stop looking at the selfie you sent the day before. In-ho knew that walking into a lamppost was bullshit, but he didn't want to pressure you into telling him the truth. He needed you to trust him, to tell him willingly.
Still, he examined the picture — your cheek in particular — and concluded that you lied to him. In-ho took it as a triumph. He didn't win the bet just yet, there was still time for you to mess up, but the fact that you chose to not tell the truth only solidified his belief that you were the same as everyone else. In four days he would return to Seoul and win. The prize? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps just the satisfaction that he was above you.
Players entered the field, and the voice in the speaker instructed them to split into teams of two in less than thirty minutes, which was unfair to player 002, since there was an odd number of people. 002 was taken away by a guard, and the remaining 96 players grouped into pairs. While the objective was indeed simple — throw the arrows in the jar — it came with a twist. It always did. Each player was given four arrows, but one of them was blindfolded and threw the arrows while their teammate picked the jar up and tried to catch the arrow in it. Once all four arrows were thrown, the teammates switched places. If at least six out of eight arrows hit the mark, both players passed, but if one player threw four arrows and the other only two, they both died.
The game took out fewer people than In-ho had hoped — 19 to be precise. Player 002 was alive and well, and the remaining 77 survivors returned to their chamber, where more and more beds had been removed, exposing the remaining three games on the walls — Hide and Seek, Yutnori and Ssireum. He remembered his time as a player, how he was the only one who paid attention to his surroundings and anticipated the following games. In-ho used all of his skills and knowledge as a detective and emerged as the sole survivor and winner. Did it bring his wife back? No, but it did make him feel so good when proved he earned his right to live.
Players were receiving less and less food, and from the comfort and safety of the control room, In-ho watched them slowly lose all traces of their humanity. He wondered how you would've performed in the games. Participants would have abused your kindness, and your good intentions would've gotten you killed. To make it worse, he was certain you would've sacrificed yourself to save someone else, someone you deemed worthy of winning. But in his eyes, only you deserved to live.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and In-ho took it out to read the text from you. He knew it had to be you. Who else would text him at that time?
Hellooo, I took a look in the fridge and noticed the eggs and milk will go bad before you come back. I was wondering if I could give it to someone who needs it.
Damn it, you did it again. In-ho couldn't be sure that you actually gave the food to someone else — he had to take your word for it for now.
Of course. May I ask who you're giving it to?
Remember the family I told you about? The one I teach Korean to? The wife is pregnant and can't work. I think she's due to give birth soon, actually, and they could use all the help. Besides, it would be a shame to throw away perfectly good food :)
Don't you want it, miss? When we first met, you told me you didn't have a good financial situation.
Oh, no, no. I'll be fine. They need it more.
Very well, please give it to them.
Ah, I also remembered you left some money on your nightstand. With all due respect, Mr. Hwang, that's very irresponsible. Anyone could take it.
Were you lecturing him? Him? Cute. In-ho even chuckled at your reprimand, finding it adorably amusing. If only you knew the things he did, the people he killed. How would you react? That question was beginning to take over his mind like a maggot wriggling inside of his brain. Would you be disgusted? Would you go to the police? Would you agree with his ways of cleaning the world of its impurities? It was no different than how you cleaned his penthouse — you both got rid of trash.
You're right, miss. There is a safe hidden in my wardrobe. Please put the money there. The code is 1321.
Surely you would crack at the sight of so much money and try to take some. No one sane would miss such an opportunity. But then again, maybe you weren't sane. Maybe you just needed a little push, a little encouragement. In-ho poured himself a glass of whisky and thought about the wound on your cheek, and the night you were crying on his kitchen floor. Someone had hurt you, and he needed to find out who so he could exploit that. And then, you would break.
He was, however, slightly conflicted, because he didn’t want to ruin you. In-ho merely wanted to make you see things eye to eye. Just like him, life had been unfair to you. And just like him, you needed to survive. Kindness wouldn't take you very far — you had to witness the cruelty of the world somehow, and the only possible way to do that was to play the game and survive it, something In-ho knew you would never do due to your values and morals. And he couldn't wait one more year to push you past your limits. He needed to think of something else, and he needed to do it fast — time was ticking and you were a project he refused to let slip through his fingers.
In-ho checked the cameras at the time you normally arrived at the penthouse, patiently waiting for you. He was pleased to see that you were in a better mood, cheerfully greeting Eunjoo as you went about with your tasks, but something was different. You appeared to be texting someone, and he never received any notifications on his phone, yet you were quite busy chatting back and forth. His stomach churned, an amalgamation of feelings bubbling and boiling in his core. Anxiety? Anger? Jealousy?
Jealousy.
You always sent him a text upon your arrival. You always let him know that you were there, so who occupied your mind if not him? The sudden lack of the very little control he had over you made him trip in his room and lose balance, and he forcefully ripped the mask off and tossed it on the floor.
In-ho was losing the bet he made with himself, and not in the way he had imagined.
It wasn't him who lived in your mind, but you who invaded his, and it infuriated him, because after his wife died, he refused to get attached, refused to fall in love. Luckily for him, it wasn't love that he felt for you, but an unhealthy obsession to watch you, to know your every move, to find out who hurt you and make you hurt them back.
You performed your tasks with utmost perfection, and placed the money in his safe while ignoring the riches inside it, but you were distracted, constantly looking at your phone and half-smiling whenever it lit up. In-ho couldn't have that.
How's Eunjoo?
Since you were so busy talking to someone, he expected you to frown at his text, to scoff and ignore it. But you did worse. You stopped folding his clothes and sat on the edge of his bed, beaming at the message on the screen.
She's alright! We had dinner and a cuddle, and now she's playing next to me. I'll send you a picture!
In-ho watched you struggle to take a photo of the cat — each time you took out your phone, Eunjoo stopped playing, so you swapped to the front camera, trying to sneak a picture. You even smoothed your hair and made yourself look presentable, and he found it quite adorable that you tried to look presentable for him.
I'm sorry you have to see my face, but she wouldn't sit still for a photo!
You were stunning. It was all In-ho could think about when he opened the photo. Your bright eyes were like a drug to him, instantly hooking him, forcing him to regain a shred of humanity.
Don't apologise, miss. You're beautiful.
There it was, the crack he so desperately sought for. You were practically hyperventilating in his bedroom, struggling to breathe, constantly rereading the words on your phone. And then he heard you talk to Eunjoo, heard you question your own sanity. But no, In-ho didn't like you. He was simply interested in breaking you, oblivious to how you were breaking him.
"Damn it. I promised Donghyun I'd go for a coffee after work tomorrow. I'm so confused now." Your distorted voice crackled through his speaker, and In-ho clenched his jaw, barely stopping himself from breaking his phone.
Who the fuck was Donghyun? And more importantly, why did he care?
He didn't care, or at least that was what he told himself for the past few days. He didn't care. He didn't give a shit about you. He didn't-
The familiar words of Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon stopped him dead in his tracks. In-ho turned the volume up, still in disbelief that you knew the song, that you sung it in his bedroom like no one was watching you. It was impossible how similar you were to him, to how he was before life took a turn. But a song and a kind heart weren't enough to change him. It was far too late for that. The only possible outcome was for you to become like him, and he wouldn't accept anything else.
For the first time, In-ho didn't offer you privacy when you stepped into his bathroom. For the first time, he watched as you peeled off each layer of clothing, and for the first time, he saw every scar and scratch, every burn and bruise on your body, new and old, and he understood. You had already faced the realities of this cruel world, and you chose not to become vengeful. Your father died, your uncle abused you, and yet, you shined.
The unforeseen urge to protect you seeped through his veins, but not before you got your revenge. You deserved to get revenge more than anyone in the world. And if you didn't want that, he'd make you want it one way or another.
"Fuck." In-ho whispered when his cock twitched in his trousers at the sight of your bare body. So vulnerable. So weak. So perfect.
He sat down, phone in one hand and his eyes only on you. It was pure instinct when he fisted his cock, pure instinct when your name spilled from his lips, pure instinct when he imagined you under him, wriggling and writhing, pure instinct when he came on his fingers, disgusted with himself.
when in-ho’s wife tragically passed, he found comfort in a certain student in his class. how far was he willing to go with a student?
──── ୨୧ ────
in-ho had a perfect life. stable job, great friends and a loving wife.
he loved his wife unconditionally, they had the perfect relationship. they rarely argued, and the sex was amazing.
but his life came crumbling when he received a phone call from the hospital. his wife had gotten into a car accident.
in-ho was lost after that, for a few months he stepped down from teaching. he spent his time trying to find his happiness again. it was hard, he was stricken with grief, he thought there was nothing else for him in life.
eventually in-ho felt like he should get off his ass and do something.
he met with the principal of the school he was teaching at, wanting to get back.
he thought of it like a distraction, just something he could look forward to in the daytime.
──── ୨୧ ────
it was the first day of school, students were pushing and shoving to get to class.
you entered the classroom with your friends, seeing a new, unfamiliar teacher at the front of the classroom, taking your seat at the back.
“good morning class, my name is mr in-ho, i’ll be your new math teacher this semester.” the teacher announced as he turned to face the students.
“hey, he’s pretty hot.” you turned to look at your friend with your mouth hung wide open, slapping her on the arm as you both laughed.
lesson went on as per normal that first day, mr in-ho spent the hour introducing himself and getting to know everyone.
as the bell rang, signalling the end of class, everyone packed their bags frantically.
“that’s all, i’ll see everyone tomorrow.” mr in-ho said.
as the students got up to leave, a loud thud was heard from the front of the classroom.
“get up, nerd.” you heard.
you sighed, walking towards the girl who had been tripped by another student, helping her up as you glared at her bully.
“fuck off, what do you want?” you asked, taking a protective stand in front of the poor girl.
the bully said nothing, simply turning on his heel and leaving.
by now, all the students had left, leaving you, the girl, and mr in-ho behind.
“t-thank you.” the girl said, bowing her head as you frowned.
“you don’t have to thank me. he shouldn’t be doing that… are you okay?” you asked.
she then nodded, giving you an awkward smile as you scurried off.
“hey, what’s your name?” you heard a voice call out from behind you.
“oh, i didn’t realise you were still here.” you replied, seeing the new teacher behind his desk, packing his bag. “i’m y/n. y/n l/n.”
“that’s pretty.” he commented, offering you a small smile.
“thank you.” you blushed.
“that was really kind, what you did there.”
“oh, yeah, he has been really mean to many students. poor girl just didn’t have anyone looking out for her.”
“you’re a good girl, y/n.”
oh.
“t-thank you?” you chuckled nervously.
“what’s your next class? maybe i could walk you there.” mr in-ho said as the two of you stepped outside into the hallway.
“english. but i think i’ll be the one leading you.” you joked, causing him to let out a laugh.
──── ୨୧ ────
that night, in-ho went home feeling better than he had been the past few months. he felt like he had really connected with his new students.
they were so kind, so gentle, so sweet…
no, you were.
you were so kind, so gentle, so sweet.
the interaction he had with you kept replaying in his mind, he couldn’t think about anything or anyone else.
you reminded him of someone he used to know, and that fueled him.
the next day, he went to class as per usual. however, he didn’t take your class until noon, which meant he had to wait patiently for your class.
by 11am, he got pretty bored he had to admit. in-ho felt like he was just going through the motions, teaching the different batches of students that came in one after another.
however, when the clock striked 12, oh he was excited.
what he was excited about? he didn’t know.
he then heard a familiar laugh echoing through the halls. he turned to the door, waiting expectantly for you to come through.
the door flew open, revealing not only you to his dismay, but your group of friends surrounding you. he couldn’t make out what you were laughing about but he was incredibly intrigued.
“good afternoon.” you said cheerfully as you gave him a small wave before you took your seat.
in-ho felt a wave of flush run through him, he cleared his throat and ruffled his hair. “good afternoon, y/n.”
“oo, someone already made a move before the rest of us.” your friend teased, nudging your elbow playfully as you rolled your eyes.
time passed quickly as in-ho taught his first lesson to your class. he had found himself stealing tiny glances of you as he walked around, trying his hardest to not make it obvious.
his heart was beating so quickly he thought he could pass out.
maybe he was being delusional, or maybe even hallucinating, but he swore at times when he stole glances, you were already staring. and that made him nearly choke on his words multiple times.
after class, he stayed behind again, hoping that you would somehow approach him, striking up a conversation.
but you didn’t.
someone did approach him, but it wasn’t you. it was your friend.
“so… where did you teach before this? do you like it here? how is it like teaching our class?” she bombarded him with questions.
you took it as a sign to leave.
as you walked out, you turned for one last look. but to your surprise, you were met with the eyes of mr in-ho, as soon as he had been caught, he looked away, pretending to be interested in the conversation.
“see you tomorrow, mr in-ho.” you called out. but before he had the chance to reply, you had left.
somehow, you felt jealous. jealous that he was talking to someone like you first did. but why did it matter? he was just your teacher afterall.
──── ୨୧ ────
that night as he got home, in-ho dropped all his things. he practically ripped open his shirt and unbuckled his pants as fast as he could.
god, he couldn’t get you out of his mind.
he thought of your soft voice and your innocent face as he started to stroke himself.
‘fuck.’ he cursed as he started to go faster, his mind racing with images of your face.
he could almost hear your voice calling his name again. he replayed your laughter over and over again like a broken record.
in-ho went to sleep that night with you and only you on his mind. he knew he was fucked.
──── ୨୧ ────
weeks went by and in-ho found himself getting bolder and bolder.
within a month, he moved on to not so subtle touches.
as he paced around the classroom teaching, he took your seat at the back of the classroom to his advantage. he tested waters initially, brushing against your arm as he walked by.
when you seemed okay with it, he tried to deepen the contact.
he would place a hand on your shoulder as he passed you. when you didn’t move away or seemed uncomfortable, he knew he hit the jackpot.
his touch started to linger for longer than it needed to. somehow he craved touching you more and more.
what made him more desperate was the fact that he could smell your perfume whenever he walked anywhere near you.
it messed with his head in the best way possible.
furthermore, he started to notice how his actions took a toll on you. whenever he gently touched your shoulder, you would draw your legs together. was he really turning you on?
if he had happened to see you in the hallways, he would call you by name, greeting you, even starting small conversations.
he loved how everytime he did so, you light blush would creep onto your cheeks and you would struggle to meet his gaze, looking anywhere but into his eyes.
if this continued, he didn’t know how much he could take. all the cock-teasing, the small interactions.
pinboard¦ playlist¦ dividers¦ wc:14k ¦ paring: Dark!Frat!Alpha!Ari x Alpha!Omega?Reader
warnings: Misogyny, sexism, Rape! Non con! Breeding kink! blood, fighting, violence, forced impregnation, power imbalance, size difference, Ari being very mean, Manipulation, depression, yandere, obsession, Bucky and Curtis being assholes too, forced oral (m), being recorded without consent.
This is a very dark fic so please be aware of that before reading! This is my first commission too! <3 This is the alpha version! :)
Everyone knew Ari. How could they not? With a striking 6’6 figure, well toned with muscles that would make any woman shiver at the sight of the hunky man. All embodied with the face that would seem like it’s from a Greek god with a body to match. Gorgeous chocolate brown hair that was always swept back from his face yet still long enough to frame his angular face. A beard to match, making him look older than he was, an aura of maturity and grace in everything he did, no matter how simple. All matched with the most beautiful brown eyes that would glow like honey in the sunlight or darken like a black void when he laid his eyes on something he desired, which would only ever be you. The feisty Alpha that he was determined to bring to her knees, turn you into what you were meant to be, an omega. That’s what a woman was designed to be, and yet you defied his logic, and he just couldn’t stand it. You made his nose wrinkle in disgust at the fact you didn’t submit; how you carried yourself would make him curl his hand up into a fist. You were simply wrong to him.
It wasn’t just his looks that made him so well known, everything about him drew people in. He was the head Hockey Player, he had never lost a game and he prided himself on that. And in return so did everyone else, their champion who would always win a match. Then afterwards throw a raging party that left everyone filled with regret or empty memories. Especially the omega’s, they would enter these parties and leave defiled by whatever alpha had gotten them. There were rumours that Ari had participated in this but it was never backed up as he would often brag about how he would never accept such a tainted slut that got drunk and spread their legs so easily, he believed in true mates and that he would find his woman and put her in her rightful place. On her knees sucking his cock while the dinner was cooking and the baby was sleeping upstairs safely in the nursery all while living in a beautiful house he bought with a pretty white picket fence. He was traditional to an extreme amount. Despite that though, it didn’t stop him from sexting every girl on campus, only getting nudes to stroke his cock to while he imagined breaking in your tight, disobedient cunt and making you cry from the stretch of his knot breaking your will.
And you despised him, He was nothing but an asshole who needed to be put in his place, All he did was play with girls online coaxing sweet, innocent omegas to open their hearts to him online before he exploited them and left wanting more and forever empty. He had broken your dorm mates heart, a sweet girl called Vera, she was studying art and she fell hard for Ari. He had so many promises to her but they were left in the dust like she was as well as the other omegas. All he wanted was to look at these willing women and picture how willing you would be if he broke your place and he was going to. You were a strong alpha woman, you were proud of that too. You rose above the rest and set an example of how women should be. You were paving the way for independence and respect step by step.
You were studying business and you were doing amazing at it, to the point that you were over achieving. Or well you would be if it wasn’t for the bear of a man that took the class with you. He gave you a run for your money, he would always one up you in class. He was smug in everything he did. Crowding your space, stealing pens so you had nothing to write with, critiquing your notes whenever he could. And the worst part was that the teacher did nothing. He has disregarded it as it being Alpha playfulness when it was Ari’s systematic way to oppress you and it was working. Every little thing he did kept you busy studying while he breezed through lessons without a care.
That’s how life was for you, always battling Ari. From his darkened gaze when he watched you do anything, his eyes would devour your form no matter what you wore and every time you saw him readjust his half hard cock in his pants with a lazy grin tugging at his lips. He wanted to break you, to have you submit from being an Alpha to an Omega. You wanted him to bow like that pathetic sexist mongrel that he was to you. It was a rivalry to you, a battle of will. To Ari it was a contest, a game that he would win without even breaking a sweat.
Of course there was another reason you despised the Adonis that graced the hallways and that was because he was filthy rich. Spoiled to a degree that he had never worked for anything, he expected it all to just fall into his hands if he just flashed a wad of cash. A luxury you had never experienced as you had grown up from roots that encouraged you to work hard for everything, to earn it so then you would understand the hardships of life. That was the life of a female omega, forced to strive harder than any other kind. You had to battle for everything and you were not giving up now. Which is why when you signed up for this prestige college you knew you had to work until your back ached and your bones were sore. You needed the money.
So you had ended up with a small job at a cafe across the campus, it was simple at first being a waitress, taking any extra shift you could to meet the expenses you faced on the daily and it was smooth sailing. You looked out for the omegas that worked there before it transpired into a friendship between you all. They relied on you to keep them safe during the shifts and you did. Which led to you climbing the ladder to becoming a manager at the cafe. The pay was okay, enough to scrape by while also save some money. Every penny counted, you told yourself and in a way it did, it had gotten you this far after all. Yet your smooth sailing and peace was soon disrupted when the frat alphas heard about it and deemed it a place to harass the omegas. And the leader that led the great conquest was none other than Ari. You assumed that he would be there to use the Omegas yet he never did. He didn’t treat them with respect, but he never laid his hands on them or said anything vile, he would just wear a neutral expression on his face while he watched them work.
Soon his eyes landed in you, just like they did whenever he saw you, drawn like a moth to the light. His deep brown eyes would swallow your form, analysing your every move like it was a chess game. And as time grew, when you moved he did, in the most subtlest of ways. If you went to sort a customer out, in the corner of your eye you would see Ari making his form look bigger, squaring his shoulders and spreading his legs. You noticed every time which was just what he wanted, you couldn’t help but hate him for that for somehow always having your attention.
It was a Tuesday, the sun was just starting to fall and the street lights were flickering on as the darkness stretched down the streets making it known that it was evening. Autumn leaves were piled up on the streets, littering the concrete carpets of the outside world with hints of green, brown, orange and red from the leaves that had fallen from the trees leaving them barren. Inside the cafe, you were cleaning up. Mopping the floors while the 2 omega servers were behind the counter, wiping and cleaning the any spills or excess that had dribbled onto the counter while they handed out coffees or teas throughout the day. You were in your blue mom jeans and a long sleeve black top, you wanted to be warm at this time of year, you couldn’t help but worry for the girls you worked with who all wore skirts, how cold they would be or if an Alpha tried anything.
“Hey, ladies. Why don't you start getting ready to leave. I can hold this place over for the last 30 minutes.” You coo to the girls and their eyes light up. You watch as they quickly scramble up and begin to head to the back to clock out. You huff and put your hand on your hip, it’d be easier to send them home now before it got too dark. You put the mop back into the bucket and wheel it into the back. You see the girls putting their coats on and you smile softly. They beam brightly at you as they walk past nattering away with each other and soon, they leave bidding a sweet good bye.
As you were finally settling the cafe down, preparing it to be closed for the night as the customers were long gone on an autumn night and were probably at home snug in their warm homes watching creepy movies to get in the spirit for Halloween. You knew when you got back to your dorm you would be studying as always, making notes and expanding your ideas by searching things up. While you were in your drifted state of thinking, getting ready for all the notes you would have to take and trying to map out the specific points you would have to make you heard the cafe bell chime. The sweet bell ringing in your head and sweeping you back into the moment, someone was in the cafe and it was time to close. You feel your brain itching with irritation at someone coming in at the last minute just as you were leaving.
You push you hair back from your face before pinning it into a bun with a claw clip and wiping your face with your hands, hoping to wipe the sour look that had graced your face. As you walk out the back to the counter though, the sourness on your face soon reappeared. A look of disgust and disdain shinning in your eyes.
Stood there with his gorgeous brown locks swooped back was Ari. A baby blue button up shirt wrapped around his big muscular form, the sleeves rolled up and clinging to his biceps like a second skin, while he wore a pair of brown pants that hugged his big, meaty thighs. He was slouched onto the counter, his elbow resting on it and his hand balled up as his head rests on it. A smug grin pull at his lips as he sizes you up with his eyes lazily. You see the momentary look of disgust on his face appearing, no doubt from the fact you were a woman and you were working.
“You gonna give me my coffee, mutt?” Ari mutters his dark voice dominating the quietness of the cafe and disturbing your peace fully. You grind your teeth together and before you can utter anything out he beats you to it, further trying to reinstate his dominance over you trying to prove he was the alpha out of you two. “Or you gonna spit in it again? I don’t mind, at least I’ll get to taste you but of course you’re practically begging for it, aren’t you? You want me to taste you, to consume you.” You can’t hold yourself back from practically spitting at him, but you knew it would be no good. Not when a foul creature such as him, thrived off it. You take a deep breathe and he decides to stir the pot more, wanting to see you explode, to see you melt with submission. “Do it. Make my coffee, bitch. Follow my commands, you know you want to. You might seem tough but you just want to be ordered around. My little bitch, listening to her alpha like a good girl.”
Each word that leaked out of his mouth without filter spurred you on, you hold your chin up and finally spit back at him a taste of his own poison. “I’m the mutt?” You snort at him as you glare at him from behind the counter, your eyes clashing with his dark brown ones, a silent reprimand that if he didn’t stop that he would face consequences harsher than your words. “Then I guess that makes you the mangy mongrel that follows the status quo because you’re just that desperate for attention that you’ll follow the crowd. You think you’re in charge but you’re not. You’re just a little lost puppy that follows everyone around because you want their approval, you don’t wanna let them down.” You murmur softly but every word was fuelled with spite. You were calm but you wanted to tear him to shreds with soft words.
Ari straightens up, his hulking body stood at his full height and his hands have been rolled into fists. You watch as he flexes his long fingers before they rest down at his sides. A smirk graces his lips again but his eyes are darker, gleaming with menace and his aura is very strong and upset. You had wormed your way under his skin and you were thriving on it. He cracks his jaw and leans his shoulders forward with a terrifying look on his face. It unnerved you, the sick grin on his face and the malice in his eyes.
“Smart words coming from an alpha that would spread her legs for me just as fast as an Omega in heat. You’re gonna be mine, and when you do let me take that tight little cunt you’ll see your place as my slutty little Omega.” He coos to you and you shiver. He said it like it would happen, like it was fate, like it was set in stone. The way he cooed it to you like a lullaby, the calmness that ebbed from his body was horrifying. Your alpha was cowering at him at the pure dominance and certainty in his tone. You gulp and avert your eyes to the till, you don’t look down refusing to submit so much to him. You knew he would see you averting your gaze as a form of submission and looking down would only add fire to his ego.
You tap the price into the till and push the card reader to him and he pulls his card out scanning it. You quickly rush around the cafe and make him a coffee, refusing to spit in it. Especially when his eyes were glued to you. Everything about him gave you goosebumps and you wanted this over, now. So after rushing and making his coffee you hand it to him. Your inner alpha lets out a whimper when Ari wraps his large hand around yours that was clasping the drink. He hums as he scans you, like he could smell your panic. “Good girl.” He says, his deep voice rattling every bone in your body. He takes the drink, his fingers slowly rubbing yours as he pulls away. As he slinks his large form away he turns his head to look at you, a grin on his face and he winks at you before leaving.
The second the door closes you take a deep breath and gaze down at your shaking hand, Ari was bad news and he was planning something. After gathering your thoughts and reaffirming your control before it slips away, you head back to work closing the cafe and trying to focus on the notes you had to write up when you got back to your dorm, but Ari’s lingering scent was etching itself into your brain and the seed had been sewn. The game was officially on.
After that strange little show down between you and Ari, you had studied harder than ever. You just wanted to prove him wrong, that you were stronger than he ever was. That you worked hard and you would never back down. You were a determined girl with her whole life ahead of her and you weren’t going to let female alphas be a laughing stock any more. They were better than the male alphas that seemed to rule the world, you were concise you planned everything out and you had plans. So many ideas and steps to act out on, you’d be damned if you were going to let Ari stand in the way of that.
It had only been a week but you were heading to class. A business major, it was a scarce class with only about 10 students. You had been cursed with Ari being in that class but you refused to let that disrupt your education. As you shuffle down the hall way, your boots hitting the floor in a rhythmic way, you were stopped. There they stood. The alpha’s that you detested with every bone in your body, that made your blood swell and fizzle with hatred. Ari, the head hockey player, stood as tall as ever with a smug grin on his face as he wore his usual flannel that hugged his muscular body.
Followed by Bucky, a well known frat boy who had used nearly any and all omegas that he could get his tight grip on. His dark hair was groomed back and he stood in dark jeans and a leather coat that only just managed to fit his biceps in. He was 5’11 but he was still tall, he fit into the class jester world as he treated everything like it was a huge joke. You would have respected him as he worked hard to get into this college too, but his blatant disrespect for women left a sour taste in your mouth and made it nearly impossible to tolerate the alpha.
Finally, stood at the other side of Ari, was Curtis. Another hockey player that took the sport way too seriously. It was no secret that he had anger issues that he either took out on the other alphas when he was playing or a helpless omega that he would fuck so hard that they wouldn’t walk. His sharp blue eyes could cut through diamonds and his large figure could easily crush you. He towered over you at 6’4, and made you feel small as he was clad in his simple black joggers that hugged his beefy legs and a coat that added more to his size.
You raise an eyebrow at the trio of men before they snicker down at you, “See, I told you. She has bite.” Ari murmurs proudly to his friends, and the second those words left his mouth you could feel their eyes scanning you. You bristled at them all. “Get your fucking eyes on the floor you scumbags.” You say firmly with your chin raised and hell fire brimming in your eyes. Bucky snorted before he laughed hard at you. The sound bouncing off the walls and making your brain ache with frustration. This is why you had to make a difference, so no one would laugh at you the way Buck was now.
Bucky’s brown eyes sweep your form again as a lazy grin settles on his face, “Oh she is feisty.” Bucky practically sings to Ari. Curtis hums as he gazes at you still. You turn your gaze to meet him, a warning glint in your eyes. “She’s cute. I’d tear her apart on my coc-” Curtis mutters before Ari elbows him in the ribs a growl leaving his throat. “I said she’s mine.” Your eye twitches at them. “I’m not yours, mongrel. Watch your tone.” You hiss before you briskly push past the alpha’s and get into your lesson.
After ten minutes and settling into class, you were busy noting everything down. As the professor turns back to his computer to leave everyone to write their notes up, you feel your phone buzz and pull it put. A text linger on the screen from a sweet omega that you worked with. Her name was Valeria and she was short, chubby and an overall sweetheart, The most gorgeous brown eyes to ever grace a face and freckles surrounding her face like she was the night sky and they were stars. She was a very good friend and often asked you to chaperone her places, purely so she didn't get taken advantage of. She was smart and you liked that.
[Will you join me to go to a Hockey match tonight? My brothers playing and I want to cheer him on!]
You gaze at the notification and way up the pros and cons in your head. If you went then you’d have to see that awful alpha trio. But if you didn’t go, anything could happen to Valeria. You sigh, you weren’t going to be stopped seeing a sport because of three egotistical men who thought they run the school. You were above their childish games, this would be a small way to revel and you would revel in the power. With a smile on your lips at the idea of this subtle power play, you respond to her.
[Absolutely V! I’ll meet you outside your dorm at 5!]
And with that your first step had been made, and you were excited. But that feeling soon dispensed when Ari trailed in through the door before he strolled over and sat down next to you. He was so casual with everything he did, never having to worry because he knew his parents could just pay for him. Anything he wanted. From expelling someone he didn’t like to getting top grades. The world was his oyster.
He fakes a cough before dragging his head to gaze at you. He chuckles and smiles down at you like you were an ant and he was the boot about to stomp you down. “Sorry about the guys earlier. They won’t touch you. Not when I’ve had my eye on you. I mean, there’s a special collar and everything for you, mutt. Can’t wait to wrap it around your neck and claim you as my bitch.” He whispers into your ear and you have to hold back a snarl because unlike him, you couldn’t get away with everything and you couldn’t pay your way out of it. Instead you had to grin and bear it and he knew that. In fact he used that to his advantage whenever he got the option,
As the lesson drained on you could feel your mind twisting in agony at holding back retorts of disgust back at the vile creature that had decided to situate himself next to you. In the grand scheme of things, it would be worth it. Every come back you had to gulp down would have made a difference and Ari’s precious money would run out while you ruled the world. But you had to take it one step at a time. With a sigh, you clear all your things up after taking your notes and turn to Ari, a look of nothing in your eyes as you regarded the man because you saw him as nothing. He scoffs, “Watch yourself. You may be an alpha but you’re still a woman. You’ll be bred, mutt. I’d suggest quitting while you’re ahead.” He mutters before he gets up and slinks out of class leaving the threat to hang in the air. You gulp and shake your head, you’d come too far to quit and you were certainly not going to listen to a spoilt mongrel. Never.
It was busy at the hockey stadium, the seats were crowded and the variety of people that blended in with the scene made it look like a sea of people. The scents that lingered were so mixed, sweet smells that rose from all the omegas that came to see the Gods that cruised on the ice with a brutal force. To the betas that were simply there with friends or wanted to watch the sport, all over shadowed by the smell of the alphas. From the hockey players that stunk of aggression and sweat to the alphas that were hopped up on adrenaline from the bets. Overall, it was a very stuffy place to be and you slightly regretted coming, But you had made your mind up and you were not leaving Valeria alone, that and you had a point to make.
You and Valeria sit in the cold, plastic chairs that left you with an uncomfortable back but you couldn’t complain. It was probably the overwhelming amount of people and the increasing anticipation that was swelling in your chest. You were anxious and tense to see Ari’s gorgeous face drop into a murderous look when he clocked eyes on you, you weren’t scared you were just uncertain. But every subtle move in a large chess game made the players tense and nervous, this was just one step in the grand scheme of things.
As the sounds of blades cutting through the ice screeched through the stadium everyone’s attention soon turned to the game. You could see the three alpha’s you despised. All a hulking mass on the ice and in their uniform and you couldn’t help but gulp at how imposing they appeared. They could wipe you out with a simple swipe and no one would care. But you had to swallow that fear and squeeze it in your stomach to stop the bile from crawling up your throat. You were just as strong. Maybe not physically but you could easily outsmart the ape-ish men.
Throughout the game you wrung at your hands, twisting them as every scene you saw filled your heart with more terror and regret. You had watched how Ari had practically destroyed the other player. Not just in points but physically too. You couldn’t help but flinch at every bash against the stadium walls as you watch the trio of men bully a poor alpha into it. The blood that painted the ice was far too much for a simple hockey match, it was practically a death sentence to be on the ice against the team. They would wipe you out and skin you without a care, or at least that’s how it seemed. The brutality they shared against the other players seemed so personal all while they somehow looked elegant. It was sickening and Valeria shared the same sentiment as she watched her brother get slammed into the stadium walls, his head bouncing against it with a thud while Ari stay trained on the puck after mercilessly beating the younger alpha up.
Valeria let out a cry of fear as the medics swoop in and drag her brother off the ice, she gazes at you desperately and you give her a look of concern, throwing your arm over her shoulders to help calm her for a moment as she cries softly. “P-please can you go check on him. They don’t let Omegas back there.” She pleads and you find yourself agreeing to please her. You give her one last cuddle before working your way through the crowd and slipping into the locker room. Just as you walk down the hall way to them though, you hear the sound of the Hockey match ending.
Cheers and screams echoing all around you before you hear the stomping of boots coming down the corridor behind you. Within seconds you scan the are and jump into a janitor closet and hold your breath, your heart racing so loud in your chest. You felt like a spy, no, more of a peeping tom. You cover your mouth with your hand as you hear the boots pounding against the ground and the deep voices of men cheering, But, you hear one pair of boots pause directly outside your room and a deep rumble of a laugh bouncing off the walls, Ari’s laugh. Without warning you watch as light from the key hole disappears and a click sounding out before the light returns. Ari had locked you in. Your chest grows tight at the realisation of it all. You remind yourself to stay calm, Valeria knows where you are or roughly and when you don't return soon she’ll come looking for you.
That’s what you told yourself, oh how wrong you were. As the darkness crept into the hall ways and the sounds of everyone leaving drove itself into your head you felt like a doll, You were a sitting duck and now that the door was unlocking, you realised the metaphorical farmer was here to shoot you. As the door is dragged open at such a slow pace is makes your stomach turn to knots, you gulp rather taking the gun from a farmer than this. Stood bright and tall at the other side of the door was Ari, Curtis and Bucky.
They all chuckle down at you and tilt their heads. “What’s wrong, mutt? Scared of the dark or were you just sad you missed out on peeping?” Ari’s deep voice rumbles out and you feel the fire inside you burn immediately at that. Your fight filling your veins and you pathetically kicked at Ari’s ankle. Bucky’s face crumbles at the sign of your disrespect and Ari takes a step back chuckling menacingly. Just as you were about to hiss out a warning, Curtis’s big hand fists your hair and he begins dragging you back to the locker room with the men all following. “Stupid fucking girl!” Curtis barks out before he pushes you against the lockers and you let out a whimper as your ribs collide against the cold metal and knock the wind out of you.
Before you can recover, Bucky’s hand is gripping your hair and pushing you to your knocks. You gasp and gaze up at the men, regretting it now. All three towered over you as you sat on your knees. Each one of them was unzipping their flies and pulling out their hards cocks. Ari grins down at you smugly as he jerks the tip off and swipes some precum off the tip. He pushes his finger towards your lips and when you move to turn your face, he utters something so softly that you would have been fooled if it not for the promise of the end of your life. “Open your mouth mutt, or I’ll get you expelled. Say that you cheated on a test.” Although he had cooed it down to you, he made it known that he could wipe your education out in the blink of an eye without any remorse. So, you close your eyes and fight back the bile clawing at your throat again and part your lips.
His thick finger intrudes in your mouth as he swipes his precum on your tongue and you gulp. You know his rules and you know what he wanted from you, at least you thought you did. As you lean forward to wrap your lips around his thick, pink tip, he tuts at you and taps your nose like as if he were reprimanding a dog. You gaze up at him with bleary eyes, the tears already leaking down your face. “I have my friends here mutt. Don’t forget that. They deserve some attention too. After all, we just had a very tiring game, we need to get our stress out.” Ari continues to use that same soft tone and it irks you. You weren’t a pet, you were a woman, one in a terrible situation and if this was a small step to one day making a big difference, then you would suffer through it.
They form an almost triangle formation, all their cocks firm and dripping in excitement. You close your eyes and loll your tongue out and within seconds you can feel the tip of a cock sliding along it, soon followed by another and another. They were practically spilling their precum all over your tongue. You gulp before leaning forward and beginning to suck eagerly at Ari’s cock. The groan he let out was beautiful something from the sweetest melody that has ever left someone's vocal chords. You gulp that thought down though just as soon as you begin to gulp Ari's cock down your throat. You bob your head in a steady rhythm before he grips your hair and pulls you backs and guides you open, wet mouth onto Bucky’s desperate dick.
You trail your tongue all the way down Bucky's shaft before he directs you to his balls. You suck one into your mouth, ignoring your dignity that was slowly slipping out of your fingers, out of your soul. You could hear Bucky’s whimpers of delight before his hand begins to steadily pump at his cock as you slurped on his balls.
Yet again you get dragged away, but this time by Curtis. Before you can even flash him a hateful glare his cock is speared down your throat making you gag. He didn’t care though, Curtis was far too aggressive and it was shown in sex as he face fucked you. Tears streaming down your face and you could hardly breathe from your nose because of the snot. But none of the men cared. That was until Ari dragged your mouth off Curtis’s cock. You didn’t see the malicious look that Ari flashed Curtis, you were too busy being hunched over coughing and catching your breath.
That didn’t last fro long though as Ari’s large palm cupped your chin and directed it upwards, you kept your eyes closed as you heard the men shuffled. Ari opened your mouth wide again, and your jaw ached so much by now, they weren’t small men and they definitely weren’t packing small. Each cock was big or thick in it’s own way and each one made your jaw ache more and more. Now you were dreading which dick was going to be buried down your throat.
However you soon heard all the men groaning and saw a bright flash of light behind your closed eyes. You peeked an eye open and horror is painted on your face as you see Ari recording this on his phone, all three men gathered around you jerking off as they pointed their release at your face. This was terrible. Before you could even get up to run or stop this, Curtis let out a groan and his cum shot out and landed on the left side of your face. You immediately close your right eye which you had peeked open as a chain reaction occurs and Bucky paints the right side of your face.
But Ari went above and beyond and pulled your open mouth around his cock and pushed all the way down until your nose was nuzzled into the thick bed of pubic hair he had. “Fuck, that’s so good. See this mouth is better used to suck your master’s cock rather than talk.” You gagged and the tightening of your throat around his cock was all it took before he came down your throat. After a few minutes, he dislodged himself from your throat and turned his phone off from recording. You cough in the ground, tired and humiliated. You barely noticed them moving around. Bucky and Curtis dressed and cleaned. They give you a pat on the head while a satisfied smile clings to their face and they wave Ari goodbye.
You didn’t even realise Ari cleaning your face up of the cum that had been painted on it like you were a whorsh masterpiece. How he gave you water and even somehow got you an Uber home. You just felt helpless this was a bad situation to be in, even if you were wet from it that meant nothing. As you lay in bed, still in your daze you question how many female alpha’s in the world were subjected to this. Was it worth it in the end?
It had to be worth it. You got above and beyond it meant you could stop this from ever happening again, and that was all the motivation you needed. You rewired your mind and took some deep breaths reminding yourself to be strong. But first you would sleep before retrying, you needed to rest so that when you were awake you’d be ready to fight one small change a day.
The coming days after passed in a blur. A strange state that you were left in after your humiliation, after your assault- you stopped that thought immediately. You didn’t even want to remember it, you wanted to live in the emotionless blur that the days had seeped into. Your phone was crowded by texts and you just didn’t have the heart to answer any of them, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask for help and loose your role as the woman who others would come to. That’s what you told yourself, but there were numerous reasons, each one more depressing and degrading than the last. It had only been a week since the incident and yet you had holed yourself up in your dorm room, it was becoming a mess and it reflected your mind. Th blankets that were piled up on the floor were the big thoughts that you were ignoring.
You had dragged yourself to work but you had stayed in the back the whole time, not having the will to go round front and serve people. During that time you had smelt all three alphas come into the cafe. Bucky was the first to enter, you could hear him talking and flirting with the omegas and your stomach was filled with dread. It was like you could feel his eyes seeking you out even though you were hidden. When he left, you would have breathed a sigh of relief but the bile that filled your stomach travelled and you could only vomit in the toilets.
That happened with them all, but the worst was Ari, who came in on Friday. His scent was a lot stronger and it was slightly sour, almost like you could taste it. The curdling in your stomach kicked up like rotten milk would. Ari was angry. You hadn’t seen him all week, choosing to neglect class and instead doing it online instead, and your professor was so kind and sweet. He understood that although Ari had been secretly bribing him, you had finally broken and you needed space. Yet every day you had class, Ari sat in his usual seat next to yours excited to see you. To brag to you and show you the video he had against you. But you didn’t show, and the more he didn’t see you the more frustration would leak into his veins making him tense his muscles and clench his jaw. He hated that you were avoiding him.
You were shaking in the back when you heard his deep voice rumble through the cafe, it was so dark and threatening even if he was ordering a coffee. Everyone could sense it, they could see how tense he was, his eyes darting around the cafe, hunting for your form. He could smell you and it was driving him crazy. Where were you? Ari grinds his teeth as the little omega serving him shakily makes his coffee. His eyes shoot to her form and a dark look overtakes his face. He clears his throat, “Faster. I have things to do.” He grunts out and glares at the girl. She gulps and hurriedly gives him it.
He leans forwards and smirks, “Tell your little manager that if she keeps avoiding me, she’s in for a world of trouble.” His murmurs softly almost cooing down at her, but his eyes were flaring with hatred and warning. And soon turns on his heel putting the fresh coffee in the bin and marches out. All you could do was stare blankly, you heard every word and you felt yourself falling deeper into the hole that had caved itself into your mind. You wanted to sink until no one could find you again. Despite it all, you stayed strong, as strong as you could. You worked hard in your studies still and kept your work in line. You threw yourself into anything and everything to keep distracted. Including an omega group on campus that wanted to be stronger than their hormones and they were very happy to accept a female alpha that was going to help them stay strong.
You had been to one group meeting and it was so inspiring to see that they were trying to overcome the sexism that ran rampant all over the campus and society. You were happy to help build upon their ideas and even helped introduce new ones. So far they had come up with an app, a special dating app for omegas to use. It was simple but if you put in an alphas name it would come up with any recorded offences they had and just general info so then omegas would know in the future who they might spend their heat with or might mate with. You had added in the idea of logging on any crimes they had done, just so they knew what kind of person they would be partnered with. It was simple but it would make a big change in the omega dating world and you were proud to help.
Another week had passed and you found yourself at a classic frat party, people were drunkenly slobbering all over each other either through kissing or speaking. You couldn’t help but cringe at it all where had everyone's self respect gone? You were sat in the corner drinking out of one of the crappy red plastic cups that seemed to be almost dreamlike in your hand. You didn’t want to be here, so whey were you here? You pause and gaze down at the liquid in your cup before you glance back up and meets the eyes of one of the omegas from the group you had recently joined. She was shy and hidden in on herself and a deep look of sadness gleamed in your eyes and you understood why.
During you weekly meeting, the omegas had all suggested they go to a party with all types of people, and they would all have a red button. The premise was simple, if the omega was overwhelmed they would press the red button and everyone would gather round and would evacuate the party. It seemed like a good idea, a way to stand up and finally go to a party without being seen as sex object. So you all agreed happily, wanting to test this red button theory and see how well it worked.
Yet it had crumbled so quickly, after a few drinks some of the girls hit the dance floor which was just a large living room with all the furniture pushed to the side, but mixed with forty people it turned into a crowded dance floor. The red buttons that were favoured so much were now forgotten as they grinded against sleazy alphas. They were lost causes and the odd few that were left had fled the scene disappointed and scared at the outcome of their idea. Yet you were still sat there, across from Kari. She was a sweet girl, she was dressed in a cute white dress and cosy brown cardigan but despite her looking cosy and warm she was shaking. She was just so scared about the outcome, at how easily her friends gave into their hormones.
You sat patiently, keeping an eye on her. You agreed to stay with her until her Uber came and she was very thankful for it. This way, if she were to give into her hormones, you could step in and direct her away. That’s why you were stuck in this hell pit of sadness. Next morning all these omegas would be left, hanged to dry like a forgotten pair of socks on a washing line. They deserved better but in the end there was nothing you really could do. They consented and you were jealous that they had the chance to consent. Why not you? You shoved that selfish thought down and gulped down the rest of your drink, it was nobodies fault but Ari’s, Bucky’s and Curtis’s.
You push your hair back from your face and gaze at Kari, “Let’s wait outside, okay angel?” You coo to her and she nods eagerly, she hides her soft hands in the sleeves of her cardigan and fists it anxiously before she stands up and gazes at you desperately. You stand up and leave your cup on the table, before reaching your hand out and intertwining it with Kari’s hand. You navigate out of the crowded frat house, your head already easing up the second you stand outside as the cold air wraps you up in its embrace and grinds you back down to reality.
You squeeze Kari’s hand and turn your head to flash her a reassuring smile while squeezing her hand softly again. She smiles shyly back at you as you walk down the large porch and head towards the road. You could hear the loud, blaring music that was echoing out of the house and your face twists into one of disgust. You hated it all, you understood people having fun but whatever went on in that house would turn into sadness in the end. Besides you had better things to do, you had ideas in place. How you were going to create a great business one day and instead of only focusing on profits you would take care of the workers. You would let women’s voices be heard and let them climb the tower to success just like you would.
A genuine smile graces your face after the first time in weeks over the idea of creating such a powerful environment and as you walk with Kari you can’t help but begin to tell her about it. You watch her eyes light up as you go into more detail, a feeling of hope blooming from you both as you unravelled more of this idea. You felt that boost that you had been missing, that push to ignore what had happened and actually do something for once. In the future you could get justice, but for now you would have to grit your teeth and bare it, even if it hurt. It would be worth it for omegas like Kari, for strong alpha women like you and the beta women that were often left behind.
You both sit on the curb of the road, happily talking. Dreams and ambitions flowing through you both and a sense of pride leaps out your heart at how proud this omega was, how strong she was. After all the excited chatter, the Uber finally pulls up and you help her to her feet before hugging her tightly. She kisses your cheek and your heart flutters. She was a good woman and she deserved the world and you hoped you could help give her some of it. You stand back onto the pathway and give her a sweet wave as you watch her drive away. You would have gone with her but she was on the other side of campus and half way through your conversation you had noticed your phone missing. No doubt you had left it inside at the crappy party, so with a deep breathe in to encourage yourself you marched back to the party.
As you shoved your way through the mingling bodies that littered the house, you sauntered into the living room and your eyes glazed the scene before you headed towards the corner where you and Kari were sitting before. But just as you were about to approach it, you could feel every hair on your body stand up and a lump in your throat forming. You could smell them, all three of them. But before the bile could coat your stomach, you remembered the hopeful look in Kari’s eyes as you spoke about the future. And this was a step towards it, making your presence known and stepping down on the dirt that proclaimed themselves as the kings of the school.
You square your shoulders and straighten your back, your chin raised high and you turn on your heel a look of hatred flaming in your eyes. It as Bucky, holding your phone as he regarded you with a look of lust. His body language was relaxed but you could see how excited he was just at seeing you. You raise an eyebrow at him and responds with a smug smirk. “What’s wrong, Doll? Not excited to see me? I was looking all over for you. Curtis was too, he was just so sad that our freshly bloomed daisy wasn’t there for him to get his stress out. And don’t even get me started on Ari, all he’s done was rage at everyone. He’s so pissy and all because of you.” You seethe at him, looking at his dark brown locks and you square your jaw. “Give me back my phone.” You command and all you get in return is a laugh.
However, before Bucky could chortle out a response the party fell silent and Bucky stiffened before he relaxed a smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips again. You were confused for half a second before you smelt it. The searing anger that could only be produced by Ari. Bucky grins as he gazes over his shoulder watching the angry God approach you both. You could feel your heart hammer and you were close to having a panic attack but you just couldn’t afford to lose this battle, for Kari and for yourself. You gaze up at Ari’s hulking form, he stood behind Bucky with a dark look on his face that would destroy every ounce of strength of hope that clung to your bones.
“You found our little mutt. Curtis will be glad to know I’m about to put her in her place after avoiding us.” Ari grumbles out and Bucky chuckles at him. The look you receive from Bucky rattles your bones, you both know something big is about to go down. You’re about to be punished by the frat God and no one will help you.
You gazed at the other alpha that had so happily assaulted you, you watch with a sense of fear ready to fun or fight but you were cornered. Cold feelings of dread immediately gripped your form as Ari turned back to you and sized you up. He smirked as he always did, it seemed so easy to him to pull his lips into that evil look where you knew something awful was going to happen again. You couldn’t afford it again, you couldn’t lose that little spark but with every breathe that left your lips in his presence you could feel that little light being snuffed out. Bucky let out a chuckle and pat Ari firmly on the back, “Teach her her god damn place. Put your bitch in her place.” He mutters with a grin on his lips before he saunters away looking around for an Omega to pass the time.
“So, my little mutt can make it to a party but not to see me.” He mumbles before he lets out a bark of laughter, malice was dripping off every musical note that left his lips. He let his head roll down to gaze down at you through his strong nose. His gaze was so very cold it was like ice seeping into your veins and it left you gasping for air. “I have a very pretty video of you choking on my cock like a good little bitch. Now..” You couldn’t breathe at his words, your fate was sealed and you felt so hopeless. The little spark was downed out now. “You can stop avoiding me, be my good little girl and bow down, or I can send this to professors and around the school and get you kicked out of here without so much as blinking.” He cooed it to you like it was a lullaby and without thinking, the last part of you that was screaming in your head had won.
You raised you hand and it was almost in slow motion, such a delightful moment that your entire body sang praises about, as you punched him. The sound of the punch reverberated in the room and everyone fell silent. You felt giddy, excited, so much so that you felt yourself getting wet at giving him some pay back rather than laying down and dying. Ari’s head snapped to the side and he rolled his jaw cracking it almost like he, too, was savouring such a momentous moment. The moment died quickly though. Within seconds of you feeling like a hero, you fell like a villain as his large hands slid into your hair and gripped it tightly. You whimpered in pain as he fisted your hair but you soon let out a cry as he dragged you outside. No one stepped in, no one watched. It was too late for you and your destiny was sealed.
As you round a corner outside he pushed you and lets go of your hair sending you barrelling into the side of a wall, just as you recovered and looked around noting that he had dragged you into an alleyway, you heard Ari let out a sick little chuckle before you looked up and got a firm knee into your ribs. You hunch over and gasp for air before you get a knee swiftly to your face. You don’t know how your nose didn’t break, all you knew was that you were giving up. You crumpled on the floor sobbing and you gazed up at him. Blood dribbled out your nose and your face was red. You felt bruised and battered, even if it was only two hit, they were hard. He was a strong man and he was a hockey player, you didn’t stand a chance. “You’re such a fucking pest in my side. You would be perfect as my bitch. But you just have to open your fucking mouth like the desperate little mutt you are. You have to speak for the attention you’re so god damn desperate for. And then you had the nerve to punch me, with your soft little fucking hands. You should be ashamed to call yourself an alpha. You have done nothing but be a pain in my ass. At least if you were an omega, all I’d have to do is mark you. But no, you have to have it all. You want it, then you fucking got it.”
You couldn’t even hear him, all you could hear was a monotonous tone that rang in your head and you focused on that as a feeling of numbness consumed you. Yet just as you were about to fully give into it, Ari’s large hand grasped you jaw and he tutted at you before he gave a harsh slap to your face. A whimper leaves your lips and you let out a noise of anguish. This was overkill, you both knew it but he just wasn’t satisfied. “A full fucking year! That’s how long I’ve been pining for you, you dumb bitch! I learnt you schedule, everything about you! I listened to your shitty bands to understand you, to get you to bow down. Hell. I even started learning about business class when I didn’t even need it. But no! Wasn’t good enough for Miss. I’m so up my own ass! I’ve had enough. You’re mine. I have done everything for you and it’s time you repaid me.” He hisses out to you, his steely gaze burning holes into you crumpled form that was so tired and numb.
As you lift your head to gaze up at him, you watch his eyes dilate. He lets out a moan that he swallows, “I can smell you. You’re so fucking wet for me.” You can’t even bring yourself to stop him and his lies. You were wet earlier from teaching him his place but it back fired so badly. Humiliation engulfs you as you feel him wedge his shoe between your thighs. “Hump.” He hisses and you swallow a gag and finally manage to shake your head. He quickly leans down and garbs your hair again, “Fucking hump it like the desperate mutt you are or I swear to god that video goes around and I’ll pay for your life to be a living hell.” Ari promises you and you swallow the last sense of your pride and dignity.
You lift your hips before rubbing your clothing covered cunt against his shoe. You feel your eyelids flutter closed in shame but also pleasure. Through your jeans and your panties you can feel your clit rubbing deliciously against Ari’s shoe. As you hump him, your hand drag from the floor and crawl up his leg, clinging onto his calf like it was a carousel and the ride you were currently experiencing was one so unique you would never forget it. Your lips part and a small gasp leaves your lips as Ari tilts his foot upwards putting just the right amount of pressure against your clit. He adds a bit more and his hands card through your hair before he gently pulls it back and tilts your head up to face him.
You gaze up at him with half lidded eyes, One half closed from pleasure and the other from pain. The tears that gleamed in your eyes added a sparkle to them that made Ari adore you even more as his pet, how could he not? You were his toy, you just needed a firm hand even if it did break you. He would pick up the pieces and put you back together because he owns you and no other woman could compare in his mind. So as he analyses your face with adoration dripping from his soul as he takes in how beautiful your sparkling eyes were in the dim street-light. He could see the bruise that was forming a ring around your right eye, the blood that dripped out your nose and blended in with the blood from your busted lips. Such a beautiful mess that only he could ever appreciate and understand, proof of him puttying you in your place.
It was like Ari had plucked the wings off of an angel and watched it crumble and fall down to the ground in a heap in shame and sadness, and the groan that left his lips fell in sync with yours as you kept humping his foot. You let your eyelids flutter again before you hear Ari groan again, and for a moment you feel yourself snapping out of this sadistic nightmare. Your skin crawls and you stop moving your lips. Adrenaline pumps through you like cold ice enveloping your blood, without thinking your fight or flight instincts kick in and your teeth sink into Ari’s thigh. Your teeth coat with regret and blood and you scrunch your eyes tight as the world comes crashing around you. Ari’s knee met your cheek again in a much harsher blow and you were left wiped out on the floor, you let out a pitiful cough and blow splatters out.
Every part of you was aching and you felt your mind slipping. The zip of Ari’s flyer being the symphony to the loss of your mind, like a crow cawing on the day of a death or the wedding song echoing down a church while the forgotten bride sits there numb because her groom ran away. You couldn’t even stomach up the emotion to be jealous of the groom running, you now knew Ari would never let you go. Your fate was sealed and you fist the cold rocky ground and rest your forehead against it as the last tear you can muster leaves your eyes and caresses your cheek before leaning onto the cement.
Ari’s large paws grip your hips as his knees sink to the floor, the crunch of the cement being heard sliding under his shoes and he gets into his position. He flips you and you blank eyes gaze up at his, all you could see was the hatred that lingered as well as his sickening gaze of love. His eyes flick down as he tears your top of without a second thought, the sound was deafening and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran up your spine when the cold air caresses your skin. But not before the disgusting sensation of Ari’s hands soon travelled upon your skin, It was like being burnt. His hands were so warm against your ice cold skin.
You could feel his breathe against your neck, it was shaky with excitement. He tore your bra off without hesitation and for some reason you were thankful he didn’t look yet that part of you died as soon as you through it as you felt Ari begin to map out a destination on your skin with his lips. His hands were tearing at your trousers, it was like it was nothing to him. His brute strength was beyond your comprehension. A moan leaves your lips though before you even have chance to continue thinking about this giant’s strength as he wraps his lips around your nipple and begins to gently suck.
His other hand massages your breast before he moves his thumb to gently run over your nipple and the sensation that tingles down your spine at the subtle touch results in another moan leaving your lips. It was like he knew your body, and of course he did. You were the apple of his eyes and he had seen every part of you even if you didn’t know. He has memorised every vein, every inch of skin for his hands to feel, his lips to worship and his tongue to taste. Ari could feel his heart swelling with pride as he hears your moans surrounding his ears like a hug of delight. His thumb and forefinger pinch your nipple before he begins to roll it, all whilst he’s suckling on your other nipple his tongue flicking against it. You keep your eyes closed and pretend that your body is separated from this scene. Even if it felt good and the ice that ran through your body was instead turning to heat, you didn’t want this and your mouth no longer worked, either because you had been moaning so much or because of how swollen your lips were.
When he switched to lavish your other nipple with his tongue, you couldn’t stop moaning any more, but your mind was disconnected. You were floating in a void of darkness while your body tingled with delight at Ari’s touches. You could feel his spit coating your nipple and when he pulled away and blew on it, you gasped at the cold. You peaks were well presented and Ari wished that he could keep this as a picture. He was all over you and he was filled with absolute arrogance at how easily you had submitted to him. Your moans were forever engrained into his head like it was a holy prayer and he would always worship you to get to hear you sing your angelic verses. “My good girl, see you sound so much better when you whimper than when you’re barking. My pretty bitch, not a little mutt any more. You have an owner and I’m gonna spoil you.”
You could hear Ari’s words echoing in your head but they were soon silenced by the deafening tone that screeched in you head as his hands skated down your stomach and under the band of your panties. He groans, and his breathe gets heavier. He tears through the final piece of fabric and his long, thick fingers trail down before tracing your wet folds. He dips them in for a moment and brings them to his face, he sniffs them and his pupils dilate even more making his eyes seem like pure black. His tongue peeks out his lips before he licks at your juices that coat his fingers. A deep rumble leaves his chest, and the alleyway seems to shake at it. “Fuckin’ beautiful. The sweetest nectar. That’s why you’re so mouthy, isn’t it? Because you knew you tasted God damn divine.” You couldn’t even muster a reply to him, your head was turned and you were counting the small stoned that littered the ground. This was the end and you knew that Ari had won. “Present for me.” He commands but you couldn’t even move you body. Your limbs were heavy and bruised and Ari’s patience was so thin it snapped a mere second after his command left his lips.
You felt his large paws grip your hips as he turns you, he drags the scraps of clothing from your body leaving you bare to the cold, night air. You knees scraped against the cement and grazed them, your chin rested on the gravel as he twisted and turned you into you were in the right position. He drapes his body over yours, the heat from his skin blistering yours with disgust. His lips gently kissed your ears as he whispered sweet words of devotion but you focused on the tone that continued to screech in your head. You gulped as your felt him nudge you legs wider from behind, you closed your eyes tightly within seconds as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing between your folds and his groan vibrates against your back and you finally manage a tear that falls down your face and onto the cement as he slides his cock into your tight little cunt.
Ari’s eyes roll back into his head and his mouth falls agape as some drool leaves his mouth, he had torn down heavens gate and was finally in the place he had craved for years. He was in heaven, he was buried so deep in your snug little cunt. You could feel him stretching you, you could feel every vein of his cock as your pussy was wrapped around him. Your stomach felt full and empty all at once, you were either going to throw up or pass out. Ari’s large hand grabbed your chin as he pressed his bearded cheek against yours. “Mine. This is mine. You are mine. How could I ever have called you a mutt when you’re literally just a pup. My little pup who needed training. Sweet little cunt on my sweet little bitch. The places I’ll take you, the things I’ll spoil you with, you’ll never want for anything again.” He coos through groans and panting breaths.
He moves his hips and the thrust rocks your entire body, your knees grazing against the cement again this time tearing through the graze and pulling blood out. You let out a soft breath as he pulls out but soon your eyes roll back as he pushes back into the hilt. Ari let out such delicate moans and groans at every thrust he delivered to your fragile body, You were just so tight and wet, and the heat from your pussy was absolutely delicious. His hand falls from your face and falls to the pavement, practically clawing at the floor with every movement he anchors to your body. The wet squelches echo down the alley from your wet pussy and Ari’s balls finally slap against your clit making you let out a pathetic mewl that only stirred him on. It only made Ari want more of that precious little noise, he needed to have that noise injected into his heart so that every time it beat he would remember you giving in to him.
You could feel every hit of his balls just momentarily adding pressure to your clit that would make you moan and drool. Ari had enough of this, ho he had to wait for every thrust to make you moan. He moves his hand to between your legs and instantly begins to rub your clit, polishing it like a prized jewel. You cried out and Ari’s heart rate sky rocketed. Nothing could ever compare to this, to you. As he continues to rock his hips like a desperate mad man, he soon begins changing from his soft caresses on your clit to now circling it aggressively. He was abusing your clit and the sounds that you felt leaving your lips, they didn’t sound real. They sounded fake, and how you wished they were because you knew that the whispers of pleasure that were leaving your lips would only boost his ego, only encourage him.
Ari could feel the sweat that lined his body, how it was falling onto your skin, making both your scents combine. Two alpha’s now mating. A forced submission that Ari wished he could regret or feel guilty about but he simply couldn’t, not when you were finally his. He could feel you clenching around him before you let out a gasp and came around him, every time his cock speared into you a ring of your cum was around the base marking him as yours. He could feel every hair on his body prick up as he began to reach his climax. He moved his head and pressed a small delicate kiss to your neck, your scent gland. He was about to do something rare. He was about to mate another alpha, a very hard thing to do, but he had already put himself as being the most dominant out of you two. He knew you were his fate and he would never want another.
As he licked your neck with a slow pace, his hips were moving faster and he gritted his teeth together mid lick as he growled. This was it. His hands gripped your hips and he pulled you up before sinking his cock deep into your cunt, the tip pressing against your cervix and his balls rested against your clit. His seed pumped into you, filling you up. You could feel it leaking into you, but before you could even begin to comprehend his cum leaking into you, his teeth sank into you neck. Your eyes flashed white as you passed out in a heap on the floor, Ari’s cock still speared inside of you as it began to expand and knot, tying you together. His teeth coated in your blood as the bond between you snaps into place. It struggles at first rejecting the idea of to alphas being together, but Ari’s will as stronger, he knew what he wanted and he was having it. He exhaled all the breath from his lungs before taking another breath of pure contentment. He had you in the palm of his hand and he knew the clean up after this was going to be huge. He had to take care of you now. He was your mate even if you hated it. “Good pup, gonna take care of you. Promise.” He coos to your unconscious form and squeeze his body tighter against yours to keep you warm and safe in his arms.
When you finally came back to reality through the haze, you gazed down at your hands and counted your fingers before you saw the bedsheets under them. A deep red bedding was wrapped around your form, something you had never seen or owned. You slowly tilted your head up and your eyes scanned the surroundings. This place was luxurious, deep wood furniture and floors surrounded the room. It seemed almost regal. You mind spiked with memories from that night the second you smelled Ari. His scent was every where. In the room and on you and you felt your stomach turn immediately. You rushed to the bathroom on wobbly legs that barely seemed to hold you. You reached the toilet and instantly began hurling. As you emptied your stomach a hand wrapped gently around your hair and kept it away from being covered in your vomit. It was like your blood curled in seconds as you sensed who it was, you hadn’t even heard the sounds of the shower when you woke up. Ari gently rubs your back and whispers words of support and when you’re finished you rest your head on the toilet. You sob quietly. “I know, pup, I know. I’m sorry and I know you hate me. But this was for your own good.” He murmurs.
Within seconds your turn around and begin throwing punches at him, or you tried to. He wraps around your wrists and he pulled you onto his lap as he wears only a towel around his waist. You claw at him, desperately wanting to cause just one second of pain to him like he had done to you. After a few minutes the fight is torn out of you again and he picks you up, cradling you in his arms like you were his most prized love. The only thing he had ever needed. And he did, he needed you, you were his everything. So he would accept every bite, every mean comment, every slap you threw at him just so you would be okay again. He leaves you on the bed as he rushes around the room and gets dressed into a pair of boxers and a tank top. He sits on the end of the bed and gazes you. Your knees were pulled to your chest and you were vacant and his heart ached. He had caused this and even though it hurt, he knew this was needed.
He gulped and gazes down at his hands. “You were out for a week, But the bond formed and I know your mind isn’t handling it well-” You cut him off as your voice echoed out into the room in a hollow voice, “You raping me didn’t help.” The hopelessness in your voice left his stomach aching. “Yeah…” He whispers and gazes down at his hands. “I’m sorry, But I patched you up and I went to your dorm, got everything you needed.” He murmurs, he turns his head daring to glance at you, but you're still in the same position and for a brief moment he feels bad before he remembers this was necessary to make you his. To break you. And the guilt washes away from him.
The silence was killing him, he gulps and speaks again, “I’ve moved you in with me, and I called in at your work. You don’t have to work again, but- um- I knew you wanted to earn your business degree, so I left that alone. I just brought the notes from the classes you missed today. Everything else is um non negotiable. You’re mine-” He winces at his word, “You have to stay close, I don’t want you working. I’ll provide and I know you want to as well but I can’t let you. That’s a command.” He whispers it, but the command was still firm. It was set in place and your life had ended. He paused and gazed at you, but all you did was breath from your nose in response. He was frustrated but he swallowed it down, he had to build you up again before he broke you.
He stands up and begins to pull on some trousers and a flannel top, he pushes his hair from his face and analyses you. “I have to go out, I have practise, As your alpha I command you not to harm yourself. That is an order.” He says firmly. He knew you wouldn’t run, you couldn’t. He clenches his hand as he fights back the urge to kiss your forehead and reassure you, and instead spreads his fingers out and grabs his hockey gear and leaves you.
It hadn’t been long, at least to Ari it hadn’t, but as his practise went on he had a looming feeling of dread swiftly travelling down his spine making him shiver. And as more time went on he got more and more distracted by the game until he felt a sharp pain in his heart, like a rubber band had been snapped. You had disobeyed one of his commands so without a second thought, Ari had ran to the locker rooms and gotten changed ignoring everyone else’s shouts of confusion of disappointment. He could feel his heart in his throat, hammering away and making him feels sick to the stomach. How could you disobey him already? He needed to retrain you or punish you. He drove past speeding limits before he pulled up to his apartment that was nearby the school. He barges his way through it and he doesn’t see you frozen in your spot on the bed but he instantly picks up on the sounds of the shower running.
The scene that greeted him had him rolling his eyes, you were such a pathetic alpha huddled into the corner of the shower as the water poured down on you. He clenched his fists and rolled his neck before his long legs dragged him to the shower, He squatted and the water poured down on him, soaking his clothes making them tighten around his strong form. He tuts and tilts his head as he gazes at your blank face. “Disobeying me already? We don’t want to be punished again, do we?” He coos and a smile splits across his face is sadistic anticipation in hopes you do want to be punished again. His eyes scan you ad watches as you shrink in on yourself and he sighs in frustration before he drags you onto his lap and pushes some wet hair from your face.
His large hands cradle your face, firm but gentle. He scan your face and a glare settles in his eyes, “You’re not even trying. Stupid fucking pup. I’m working my ass for you here. I tried to be nice, to make you feel at home despite you only being a pet. But no. It’s still not good enough for you.” He hisses into your ear but you barely acknowledge him until you hear his breathe directly against your ear. “If you don’t start acting like the strong alpha you claim to be, then I’ll fucking leave you on the side of the road with nothing. Understood?” It isn’t a threat, It's a promise you can hear the sincerity dripping off his tone and it makes you shiver. You gulp and nod your head in compliance because you had no other choice. You were trapped.
So, you gazed up at the shower head that poured the water down onto you both and closed your eyes and for a brief second you saw your future and it was glorious. Even though you were in a dark spot right now, you would claw yourself out of it and claim yourself as the true alpha you are no matter how hard it was. You had to escape Ari. You just needed to bide your time, have a plan and prepare.
Months had passed and every time that you built yourself back up to being strong and establishing yourself as a good alpha, Ari would make it known that you were nothing. Either by making you submit to him and making you spread your legs or being subjected to humiliation as you were shared between him, Bucky and Curtis. Every time you tried to help the omega group, Ari would have Curtis and Bucky ruin it and every time they would drink and party afterwards while Ari fucked you hard and left you a hollow shell.
You were stuck in a hell pit. Ari, Curtis and Bucky saw you as a special toy, one they would never grow bored of. After all they all grew up together in high school, they shared everything together and you were no different from the trophies they won at hockey games. They had a deep brother hood, Ari had always taken care of both the men. Bucky and Curtis grew up rough and their homes even rougher, and Ari grew up rich and sheltered and would often offer for them to stay with him when they were younger. This kindness Ari had shown had ended up in the men swearing a loyalty to each other. A bond and a brotherhood none of them would ever break as they were far too loyal and thrived off of each other’s dominance and they all strived to push each other. You stood no chance when Ari set his eye on you and wanted to break you. When Ari wanted you, so did the other two, but they wanted to help push you to Ari. They wanted their brother happy so if that meant having you suck their cocks while they filmed, they would happily accept. They wanted to break you but they wanted to support their brother too, they would never complain.
But after months of this abuse you grew tired and soon began becoming desperate and started searching for a plan and when you found one you began mapping everything out: See, your running plan was smart and cunning, after a lot of healing and still a lot more to come, you realised that being Ari’s mate wasn't the end of the world. Rather it was the start of it. Because you no longer had a job it meant you could take another class and you did, you took a computer class. You had researched Ari’s dad’s company when he would go to hockey practise and you had your eyes on the prize. When you got your degrees and finally married Ari, you would take over the business at the first female Alpha. Ari didn’t stand a chance. You were ready, and his father was getting close to death. You knew Ari would agree because of the rocky start to your relationship and how he would do anything to amend it. This was your high road, your way to victory and glory where you would prove everyone wrong. Of course it meant playing along a bit, but you were doing it with easy now days. You and Ari had sex often and you found yourself liking some of the presents that he had spoiled you with.
But whilst you were being cunning, Ari had his plan in motion too. It was simple and an easy one, one that could wait with time. He would knock you up. He knew you were ambitious and you would no doubt try and rub the company and it would be fun to watch you do it. But all it took was one baby and you were out of the game. And the second you were put, Ari would be back on top. As the leader of the company, as the true alpha between you both. And you wouldn’t ever complain because you would be too busy doting on your child, inspiring it to make a change one day. That’s all it would take and he was well on the way to winning.
So as you stand so proudly in the crowd and throw your graduation cap in the air bursting at the seams with excitement over the changes you were about to make, you had no clue that it would be so short lived. As days later you would find out that Ari had won again and you were pregnant with his child, forever sealing you as his.
wow!!! 👏💕 i loved this!! many tears were shed🥲 can’t wait to see what the next two chapters bring them (hopefully a reunion without the presence of ugly andy barber)
